


Ask Me No Questions And I'll Tell You No Lies

by Allychik6



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse happened in the past, Auror Harry Potter, Blood Magic, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Complete, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Some sexy times later, Sort of Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, but not like scary blood magic, non explicit abuse of a main character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allychik6/pseuds/Allychik6
Summary: It's never a good sign to be woken up by strange crashing noises...worse that it's Draco Malfoy in the living room.Excerpt:Malfoy licked his lips several times while trying to formulate a reply. “It’s not that simple.”“Then explain it to me.”“I can’t.” Malfoy glared a challenge at Harry, arms crossed and looking like he wanted Harry to throw a punch.And for a moment, Harry considered it, imagined pulling his arm back and letting it fly with painful precision. Several times. Even in his imagination, it was exhausting. And besides, the food would be ready soon. “I guess that makes you an enigma wrapped in a mystery coated in sarcasm and asine rules.”“Pretty much.” Malfoy gave him a smile.“Want to come with me to get the food?” Malfoy scowled, and Harry raised his hands in defeat. “I know, ‘Questions, Potter. Questions.’ I’m an Auror, we’re supposed to ask questions.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 72
Kudos: 442





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to that Kate for being an awesome Beta

Harry woke to the sound of someone stumbling through his flat. How had they gotten through the wards? Harry hastily grabbed his wand off the nightstand, knocking a bottle of lotion on the floor. He was silent though as he slipped across the floor and quietly eased open his bedroom door. Dull morning light crept in through the kitchen window, illuminating a single clumsy thief who had just knocked a pile of papers onto the floor and was currently clutching at their head. Silently, Harry stepped into the room and pointed his wand at the intruder.

With his back to Harry, the intruder froze, as if he knew Harry were there, despite the fact that Harry had made no noise. His long blond hair was dirty, Harry noticed, the right sleeve was pushed up around his elbow while the left sleeve hung nearly to his fingertips. And the robes themselves were some sort of horrible brown that would never look clean, even freshly laundered. He wasn’t holding a wand. Slowly, as if in pain, the thief carefully turned to stare, unflinchingly, at Harry.

“Malfoy?” Harry didn’t lower his wand. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

Malfoy was crying, silent tears carving clean streaks on his dirty face while his shoulders shook. This was not the same Malfoy who, five years ago, had stood boldly before the Wizengamot, whom Harry had called for leniency for, who had stood for hours while they debated his fate in his perfectly pressed and tailored robes. “What happened to you?”

Instead of answering, Malfoy stumbled into Harry, one hand scraping harshly against Harry’s ear while mumbling, “We haven’t much time.” But Harry wasn’t sure if he was mumbling to himself or to Harry.

And Harry realized his ear was bleeding. His stomach turned at the realization that Malfoy had just cut him.

“The hell?!” He tried to push Malfoy away, but for a man more bone than muscle, who stumbled clumsily around, Malfoy held on tight.

“We haven’t time,” Malfoy muttered again and pricked his own mouth. He reached out, and Harry weaved around Malfoy’s arm and backed away defensively, moving to get space to bring up his wand again. But Malfoy was frighteningly fast, hands twisting and darting up and around to smear blood everywhere, from Harry’s ear onto Malfoy’s ear, blood from his mouth on Harry’s ear. Wrapping a strand of his blond hair tightly around Harry’s thumb before smearing more blood on top.

And then Malfoy faltered long enough for Harry to get his hands in between them and shove hard enough that Malfoy stumbled back against the table before collapsing in a graceless heap on the ground. Harry had his wand pointed and ready to cast but Malfoy remained on the floor.

He grabbed at his ear with his fear hand, feeling for the blood but not finding it. “What is this?!” he shouted, waving his thumb in the air where the blood and hair had somehow become a strange ringed bruise.

“S’to prove I trust you,” Malfoy slurred, and waved vaguely towards the window where Harry could see an owl hovering. “Tha’s for you.” And then passed out on the floor. The whole sickening incident suddenly over and Harry was still panting and twitching with adrenaline.

The owl tapped on the window again.

Harry kept his wand trained on Malfoy as he maneuvered around the room to open the window. The owl dropped a note neatly in his hand and flew away. When Malfoy didn’t seem to be regaining consciousness, Harry glanced down to read the note.

_Come immediately_ and Robard’s signature. 

He looked down at Malfoy, who was now moaning pitifully. He cracked open one eye but made no move to stand. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” And then he laughed harshly. “Got no place else to go.”

“I don’t trust you,” Harry growled a little.

Malfoy rolled onto his back, hissed, and sucked in a deep breath. “I know.” He waved a hand at Harry. “But now, you’ll always be able to find me.”

Harry looked down at the hair Malfoy had wrapped around his thumb; it had disappeared, morphed into some sort of strange bruise.

“Always,” Malfoy reiterated, and as Harry focused on it he could feel some sort of tether that pulled him towards Malfoy. “Go.” He gestured again, and Harry briefly considered what he might do if Malfoy were gone when he returned. There was relief at the thought of having his flat to himself again, and if he were still feeling angry, he could always find Malfoy and beat the living daylights out of him. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Malfoy tried to smirk but it looked more like a grimace, and Harry felt vindicated.

It was a shockingly short amount of time to make that decision, but Harry felt fine with it. He nodded once and apparated to the Ministry.

And then, just as quickly he reappeared in his apartment. Malfoy looked up at him, then rolled over weakly to his hands and knees. Harry watched the pathetic demonstration in terrible fascination. “Still don’t believe me?”

“No,” Harry muttered, moving into his room. “I need clothes.” It felt strange to turn his back on an enemy.

“Oh,” Malfoy said, and Harry could hear the amusement in his voice. “Suppose it’s best. Wouldn’t want the receptionist to see you in your pants.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway in denims and a t-shirt. This was supposed to be his day off, a day for sleeping in, lounging around, completely ruined by the mess in his living room and the owl at the window. Which Harry decided must be Malfoy’s fault somehow too. In the living room, Malfoy was now using the table as a prop to keep himself upright, but his knees bowed widely, as if unable to bear the necessary weight for standing. Suddenly, Harry wondered how much Malfoy weighed. His skin was tight across sharp cheekbones and jaw, but he couldn’t see underneath those horrible robes, and it had been five years. Harry really wasn’t sure what Mafoy should weigh. He replied with the only witty rejoinder he could think of, “Yeah, you should eat something.” And then he was gone again.

On a Sunday morning, no one was in the Atrium at the Ministry, and Harry was able to quickly make his way to the Auror department, which was more heavily staffed because crime didn’t take the day off just because it was Sunday. He exchanged a few nods with his co-workers who were walking down the halls. He smiled at Lisa, the weekend receptionist, who smiled back and said, “They’re expecting you.” And then she gestured to Robard’s office which was off to the right. Harry knocked on the closed door, because that was policy and not because he was feeling polite or respectful, and an Unspeakable opened the door. A growing irritation and just a trickle of fear ran through Harry.

Hermione was an Unspeakable, but she wore silver robes edged in blue as part of the theoretical division, studying things like the concept of time or love or whatever. This man wore silver and red, the highest division, the division where things disappeared, never to see the light of day again. There was a rumor around the ministry that Red level Unspeakables lived in their department.

Harry had crossed paths with the Red Unspeakables before, usually on a case he was just about to crack and they would swoop in, claim jurisdiction, and that would be the end. It didn’t happen often, but caused some interdepartmental irritation to say the least. What exactly were they planning on taking away from him this time?

“Auoror Potter, Thank you for your quick response,” he said, and gestured to the chair across from Robard before standing to the right of the Head Auror.

It set Harry on edge to see someone else take over Robard’s office, but he sat anyway. As angry and irritated as he was, those emotions wouldn’t help in an argument to keep whatever they wanted. He tried to breathe through his nose and out his mouth.

“There was a theft last night, in the Department of Mysteries,” Robard explained through a clenched jaw. “Unspeakable Atkinson has specifically requested your assistance in solving this case.”

“I didn’t know my skills were so esteemed by the Unspeakables,” Harry said dryly, because his anger was quite well known.

“You sell yourself short,” Atkinson replied, his voice smooth and sweet like honey, and Harry hated it on instinct. “No one has a track record like yours.”

“That’s really not saying much. It’s not like just anyone could go out and kill Voldemort.” Harry tried to keep his tone light, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“While that is true, it is your doggedness and dedication as well as your understanding of dark wizards that I was referring to. These attributes certainly aided in your quest to save all of wizarding kind, and have proven a valuable resource to the DMLE. It is those skills that I require to solve this problem.” The man certainly knew how to lay it on thick.

And then Harry heard a soft voice in his ear. _Don’t drink the tea,_ Malfoy warned, and it dawned on Harry the purpose of the blood. What the fuck!

“We appreciate your commitment,” Atkinson continued. “And your singular knowledge will be an asset to this investigation.”

“What was stolen?” Harry asked. Anything to stop Atkison from buttering him up.

“Would you care for some tea?” Atkinson lifted a pot from the table behind him and poured a cup. Harry watched him place the cup right in front of him and then step back expectantly.

Harry ignored the cup, because fuck everyone but mostly Atkinson who was in front of him, and repeated, “What was stolen?”

Atkinson frowned. “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

The fuck? “Do you have any suspects?” Harry almost growled, irritation growing

“I’m afraid that’s also classified.” Atkinson’s eyes flickered to the tea.

Which Harry was not going to drink, not because Malfoy told him too, but because of the subtle way that Atkinson clearly wanted him to. “And I don’t suppose you’ll let me see the scene of the crime?” Atkinson's lips turned up in a smile but it didn’t show on the rest of his face. “Exactly how am I supposed to solve a theft if I can’t know what was stolen, who might have stolen it or even see the scene?”

“Aren’t you interested in a challenge?” Atkinson wasn’t smiling so much as baring his teeth, and he waved at the tea again, completely abandoning any pretense of subtlety.

“Robard, you called me in, on my day off, for this pile of shit?” Harry asked because he was Harry Potter and he could get away with that kind of language. Behind closed doors.

“You were specifically requested,” he muttered again through his jaw.

Harry turned back to Atkinson, “I appreciate your thinking of me, but if you can’t tell me anything about the crime, then I don’t think I can be of much use to you.” He stood. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I did actually have plans for my day off.” And he turned to the door.

His hand was actually turning the handle when Atkinson spoke, “We believe that Draco Malfoy has stolen this valuable asset.”

Harry paused and turned back around, mind whirling. “And exactly how, with all the security in the Department of Mysteries, and the probation requirements on him would Draco Malfoy have been able to steal this asset.” His wand had a trace on it, he was forbidden certain levels of magic without prior approval and unable to leave the country. Of course, Malfoy had broken into Harry’s flat this morning which would have required a much higher level of magic use than authorized, and really, if nothing else, Harry should look into that.

Atkinson drew himself up as if to intimidate Harry which just pissed him off more. “As per his court ordered community service, Mr. Malfoy has been aiding with research in my division these last four years. I have been overseeing his probation.”

“You let a former Death Eater into your division?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows, just to let Atkinson know he knew that this wasn’t even near enough information to pique his interest.

“He has a certain--shall we say skill set that has proved to be quite useful.”

Malfoy snorted quietly in Harry’s ear. “And if Malfoy is the thief, why do you need me to track him down? His wand has a trace on it.”

“If it were as simple as tracking a trace, he would not have been able to steal anything. Besides, you are adept at tracking dark wizards, are you not?”

Harry said nothing, because really, his record spoke for itself.

“Potter,” Robard broke in tiredly, “I know that this is not the type of case our department normally handles or the way we usually handle them. But in this one and very specific situation, I am afraid that you are being assigned to work with the Unspeakable Atkinson until this matter is settled.”

Atkinson looked very smug, and Harry ground his teeth together for a long moment. _You’ll have to,_ the voice in his ear said. _And if you so chose, I would understand. Thank you for breakfast._

He rubbed the scar on his right hand and mental reviewed what he knew. Malfoy stole something, from the department of Mysteries and then broke into Harry’s flat. Either without using a wand or after somehow overriding the tracker, which was a feat of magic that even Harry would not have been capable of without help. So, who might have been helping Malfoy? And if Malfoy had an accomplice, why did Malfoy break into his flat? For that matter, why did Malfoy thank him for breakfast and imply Harry might turn him in to Atkinson. Was this some sort of incredibly long game on the part of Malfoy, Atkinson or both? He ran a finger over his scar and thought ‘I must not tell lies.’

“Something about this doesn’t smell right,” Harry said loudly to everyone who could hear. “And I will get to the bottom of it.”

“Thank you,” Atkinson said in a tone that would have sounded like relief, if Harry had been less angry. “This asset, it will prevent anyone like He Who Must Not Be Named from gaining power again.”

That gave Harry pause. What on Earth could possibly be that powerful? “I’ll find your stolen item, Unspeakable Atkinson.”

But it was Malfoy who spoke. _Thank you, Potter._ As if Harry’s actions were at all for Malfoy’s benefit.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Where should we start?”

“Isn’t that your prerogative?” Was Atkinson going to be an enormous pain in the arse for the entire case?

Harry didn’t bother resisting the urge a second time. “Well, usually, I start with a thorough investigation of the crime scene, researching the stolen item, interviewing witnesses, that sort of thing. But you won’t grant me access to any of that, will you?”

“Think of it more as a missing persons case,” Atkinson suggested in a tone that was not unfriendly.

“Then, I would start with a thorough investigation of the crime scene, interview any witness, and then contact friends or family.”

“Why don’t we start with that last one.” Atkinson’s tone turned brittle.

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the door. “I guess we should interview Pansy Parkinson then.”

*

After a quick trip to records, for Pansy’s address, Harry made a firecall, and Pansy agreed to meet with them in her Paris flat that morning. A house elf dressed in a pristine white pillowcase met them at the door and led Harry and Atkinson into a lavish room with floor to ceiling windows and curtains that puddled on the floor collecting dust. She’d decorated the living room in white and gold, and Harry was surprised at how comfortable the spindly sofa was.

They were offered refreshments, which Harry was tempted to accept but only because he usually refused and Atkinson was irritating him again. He was standing between the sofa and the door emitting an imposing aura that many people probably did find intimidating, but Harry just found irksome.

“Well, if it isn’t my absolute favorite Gryffindor.” Pansy was all lightness and sarcasm in the doorway, a champagne glass of orange juice in one hand and robe open enough that Harry could see her ample cleavage.

“Hello, Ms. Parkinson,” Harry greeted her in as professional a tone as he could manage. Atkinson said nothing, but flowed across the floor as if to observe a painting on the wall. “We have a few questions about Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh,” she sighed, glanced at Atkinson, and clinked her glass on the table. “And just what has my old friend gotten himself into now?” She flopped back into the sofa, long, shapely leg revealed by the part in her robe. Harry was suddenly sure the cleavage had been intentional, but wasn’t exactly sure what Pansy hoped to gain by showing off all that skin.

“He’s missing.” Instead of worrying about her motives, Harry worked the case.

“Well, I am sure I don’t know why you’ve come here. I haven’t seen Draco in years, since before the trials.” She picked the glass back up and took a healthy swallow. “Mimosa?”

Harry shook his head. “Have you exchanged any letters? Has he sent you any packages? Any contact at all in the last few weeks?” Harry asked.

A small line wrinkled Pansy’s brow. “What has he done?”

“As I said, he’s missing.”

“I’m not an idiot, Potter.” Pansy scowled and glanced over at Atkinson. “I suppose he’s here to administer veritaserum?”

“Will that be necessary, Pansy?” Harry asked rather than make any comment about Atkinson.

For a long moment, Pansy didn’t answer. She slowly looked Harry over and just as slowly looked over Atkinson, who seemed to bare her scrutiny with mild amusement. Or perhaps he was just admiring the view. “I think it will be necessary,” she said at long last. “Not because I intend to lie, but because I don’t think you will believe the truth.”

They all waited silently for Atkinson to locate the vial from an inside pocket and squeeze three drops onto Pansy’s tongue. And then, without further prompting, Pansy turned to Harry and said, “I have not seen Draco Malfoy, spoken to him, written to him, or received any post of any kind from him since Hogwarts. I last interacted with him in any fashion, seventh year, at Hogwarts. Satisfied?”

It was what Harry suspected. “Do you have any idea who he might have gotten in touch with?”

“You’re welcome to try Blaise, Theodore, Greg, or Millie, but I rather doubt they have heard anything from him in the last five years.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I am certain they would have told me.” She ducked her head and added very softly, “We’ve missed him.”

“Can you give me their addresses? Just so I can verify your story.”

“Of course.” She blinked rapidly, and reached for the parchment Harry handed her. “As far as I know no one has any major plans for today, except for Greg and Millie.”

Harry looked over at Atkinson while she scribbled down the addresses, but Atkinson's face remained utterly impassive. When Pansy handed the parchment back, they thanked her for her time and left. Harry looked over the list in the hallway, considering the situation. He sincerely doubted that anyone else had heard from Malfoy, due mostly to the fact that Malfoy was still in his flat in London, but also because of the way Pansy had spoken.

If Malfoy had been assisting the Department of Mysteries, why hadn’t he contacted any of his friends? Seriously, not once in five years? If Harry had done something like that to Ron or Hermione, they would have been storming the Ministry after only a few days. And why would Malfoy choose not to contact them? That wasn’t part of his probation. He tucked the list into his pocket, and turned back to Atkinson. Other interviews seemed pointless, but maybe there was something to be gained by seeing Malfoy’s flat. “Where was 

Malfoy living?” Not the Manor, that had been torn down when Curse Breakers hadn’t been able to cleanse the building.

“I think we should continue with the list.” Atkinson nodded at his pocket.

“I believe her about no one having heard from Malfoy. There may be other clues to his behavior at his home.”

“And I believe we have more to gain from speaking with those people.” Atkinson’s voice cracked like ice.

 _Just interview them._ Malfoy whispered in his ear. _Waste a day and do the damn interviews. ___

____

“I dislike wasting my time,” Harry said, thumb on his scar. “There are actual cases with actual leads that I could be working right now.” He glared at Atkinson, mostly because he couldn’t glare at Malfoy.

____

Blaise Zabini lived in Germany, the next closest person on the list, so they went to Germany. And then the Netherlands to see Theodore Nott. Neither of whom had heard a peep from Malfoy in over five years, both with and without the veritaserum.

____

As it was approaching dinner time in London, Harry called off the interviews. Atkinson, as expected, insisted they continue.

____

“I am working your stupid case, on my day off, and I am hungry. I am going back to my flat in London, and I will be happy to continue this fruitless endeavour tomorrow, after I’ve slept a reasonable number of hours and eaten.” At which point, Atkinson noted the resolve in Harry’s tone, and rather than engage in a loud verbal battle with the Boy Who Lived, backed off. Besides, as far as Harry could tell, all the actual leads were in his flat. They took the floo back to Auror headquarters, and Harry apparated home.

____

Where Malfoy was pacing back and forth across the living room chewing on his thumb and mumbling to himself. And after Atkinson, it was more than anyone could handle, really. Harry wiped his hand across his face, and said, “I want answers, Malfoy.”

____

Abruptly, Malfoy dropped the hand at his mouth and turned to Harry. His eyes were darting back and forth between Harry and the front door, Harry and the kitchen window, Harry and the bedroom. “Answers? Questions,” he said quickly, nervously, and went back to biting his thumb. “No question. Wrong answer. Find the answer, then find the question.”

____

“What did you steal?” Harry asked, not entirely certain that Malfoy was sane. He was still in those filthy robes, and Harry wondered why. Why was Malfoy filthy? He had always been so immaculate at school. Had working in Mysteries driven him insane? And since when did Malfoy have the courage to do something like steal from the Department? What could he have possibly taken? And why?

____

“No questions,” Malfoy muttered and started pacing again. “No questions. Answers, no answers. Yes answers.”

____

Harry stormed around the sofa and grabbed Malfoy’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and face Harry. His shoulder was thin and boney under the robes. Malfoy’s eyes suddenly focused at the touch, and he said in a shockingly normal voice, “Ask me no questions, Potter, and I’ll tell you no lies.”

____

“Why are you here?” Harry demanded.

____

And Malfoy broke out from under Harry’s hands. “Questions, Potter! Questions!”

____

“Why are you here?” Harry repeated.

____

Malfoy sneered, “I visit my friends on such a regular basis, I thought I’d mix it up and visit someone who hated me instead.” He stalked back towards Harry, his face only a few centimetres away. “Ask me no questions, Potter, and I will tell you no lies.” And suddenly he was back to pacing and muttering. “Lies. False statements, falsehoods. Lies, lies in a field, lies over the rainbow.”

____

“You’ve lost your mind,” Harry said somewhat incredulously.

____

Malfoy turned back. “Yes. I have. I had it a few minutes ago. Or was it hours? I’m not sure any more.” He chewed on his thumb.

____

“Are you sick?” Harry asked. Was he going to need to defend himself against a mad man?

____

“Sick?” Malfoy sneered again. “Thinking of taking me to St. Mungo’s, are you? They wouldn’t be able to help me, just send me back. Back to that hell. Is hell a place? A state of being? Perhaps a void?” And he was back to muttering and pacing again.

____

“Back where?” Harry stood there, eyes following him through the room, trying to understand the situation. Was this one of those where the mad person ended up hexing everyone in sight or the kind where the mad person hexed themself?

____

His eyes lit up in a bright mania, “Oh, it’s a pleasant, bright place full of puppies and rainbows. I simply delight in the wonders of it all. Questions, Potter!”

____

Harry tried to keep his voice calm and steady, having finally worked out some logic from the madness. “You worked with the Unspeakables.”

____

Malfoy flopped onto the sofa. “It’s unspeakable for a reason. I can’t tell you about that.” But he wasn’t sneering, and he wasn’t muttering.

____

Since the last statement worked, Harry tried again, “And Atkinson is your boss.”

____

“He told me to do things. I did them. I suppose boss is a word for that.”

____

“And you stole something.” He said more confidently.

____

Malfoy flopped over on the sofa to grin wildly at Harry.“Oh, I stole something. And I am certain he is not happy about that, but I won’t give it back. No, I won’t.” And then his eyes were darting about the room again, and Harry realized that Malfoy was losing his understanding of the moment. “Can’t give it back. Won’t. Won’t. Too important. Potter will understand. Potter can help me. Can’t go to Potter. Too dangerous. No one else. Too dangerous.” He started pacing the room again.

____

“Tell me what you stole,” Harry tried.

____

“Can’t.” Malfoy was pacing and rubbing his arms. “Can’t tell anyone. Too dangerous. Have to-have to-no, no, too risky.”

____

“Tell me what you ate today,” Harry tried a different question.

____

“Ate. Ate. He wants to know what I ate. Can I answer that? Can I tell him breakfast. What was breakfast? Toast? Eggs? Porridge? Can’t remember.” He continued to mutter about food, and Harry realized he hadn’t eaten anything.

____

“You eat three meals a day.” He touched Malfoy as he spoke. What was wrong with him?

____

But Malfoy didn’t look at him, eyes still wild, hand now scratching at his left arm through the robes. “Three meals. There’s always breakfast, but never lunch. Too much work for lunch. Have to do the work. Have to be good. Follow the rules, do the research. Don’t question. Don’t answer. Need to find-need to find.” Harry’s stomach started to clench up.

____

“What do you want for dinner?” Harry spoke quietly, disturbed at the sight.

____

“No questions, Potter! No questions!” Malfoy shouted, and then crouched down on the floor rocking back and forth.

____

“Okay, sorry,” Harry said, but Malfoy clearly couldn’t hear him. “You need a shower.” He sighed and walked over to the bathroom. Something was clearly not right in the Department of Ministries.

____

“No don’t!” Malfoy cried out. “I didn’t-I don’t-I-”

____

But Harry just pushed open the door and stared at the blood. It looked a bit like a murder scene actually, with dried blood all over the mirror that had dripped down onto the sink and all over the floor, including on Harry’s nice towels. He turned to Malfoy who had stopped rocking but was still crouched on the floor. “There is blood all over my bathroom.”

____

Malfoy held out his hands which were covered in dried blood. “I was going to clean it up, but then I remembered. And then I didn’t know what to do. And I-I didn’t, and I wanted to, but I didn’t. And-and--”

____

“Okay.” Harry cut off the crazy ramblings. Because fuck if he had to deal with blood all over the bathroom and that insanity at the same time.

____

“Okay?” Malfoy’s voice was small and childlike

____

This must be what Hell was like, Harry thought, but said “okay.” He shut the door. “I’ll make soup, and then clean the bathroom, and you will take a shower.

____

“Okay.” Malfoy pulled himself up. He grabbed onto Harry’s sleeve as Harry passed by. And then Malfoy trailed after him much like a child might, as Harry pulled a can of soup from the cabinet. He held on as Harry got out butter and cheese and bread. It was difficult to cut the cheese with Malfoy attached to his arm, but when Harry looked at white knuckles of his death grip, he didn’t suggest Malfoy let go.

____

Two grilled cheese sandwiches and two cups of soup later, they both sat down at the table to eat. Malfoy didn’t touch the sandwich, and drank only half the soup, but he settled as he ate. His eyes focused, and he didn’t mutter at all. Instead, he was silent and still, and it was disconcerting after so much movement.

____

Harry kept glancing at Malfoy, opened his mouth to ask more questions, make more statements, but he was also afraid of restarting the insanity. So instead he thought back over what he knew. Malfoy had stolen something, perhaps something that had driven him insane, but he didn’t seem to have anything now. He did research for the Department of 

____

Mysteries and often missed meals. Not only that, but Malfoy had said there was always breakfast. Not that he always ate breakfast, as if breakfast was something supplied to him. Which meant he either lived in the department or with an Unspeakable. “Oh holy hell.”

____

Malfoy looked up, but Harry didn’t explain. He pushed back his plate, and went over to the bathroom with his wand before starting the shower.

____

Malfoy trailed after him. “Sorry for the mess.”

____

“You could have cleaned it up,” Harry pointed out, but he tried to say it kindly.

____

“No wand.” Malfoy looked away.

____

“They took your wand?”

____

Malfoy didn’t answer, and he didn’t look at Harry.

____

“Bastards.” That wasn’t part of his probation at all. And it wasn’t fair to Malfoy; he’d had to live with Voldemort without a wand. Harry shook his head. “Get in the shower.” He tried not to watch as Malfoy struggled to get out of the brown robes, but it was impossible not to notice his ribs, the scars up and down his arms, the still fading Dark Mark. Harry’s stomach clenched angrily at the sight, and he left before Malfoy could take off his pants.

____

He listened to Malfoy climb in the shower and rummaged through his closet for a pair of joggers that had shrunk a bit in the wash. They had a drawstring and might fit, and Harry grabbed a long-sleeved t-shirt too. Since Malfoy was still in the shower, Harry quickly left the clean clothes on the toilet and removed the horrible brown robes.

____

Upon closer inspection, he could see faded stains and worn seams. It reminded him too much of Privet Dr, and Harry quietly set them on fire in his sink before washing the ashes down the drain. It was petty, but it made him feel a bit better.

____

How had he gone from feeling so angry to such pity?

____

Eventually, Malfoy emerged from the bathroom, looking small, diminished, in Harry’s old clothes. He clutched at his left arm and said, “Thanks,” without actually looking at Harry. But he sounded lucid and seemed to know where he was.

____

“I need to review these cases.” Harry gestured to the papers he had spread across the sofa. “But you are welcome to read any of my books, or I can turn the radio on.” He had a television, but didn’t say anything about that. He waited to see what Malfoy would say, but he just stood there, in the bathroom doorway looking small and lost. “Or, if you want to sleep, you can lay down in my bed.”

____

“I don’t,” Malfoy said abruptly. “I don’t want to sleep in your bed.”

____

Harry shrugged, grateful actually as he hated sleeping on the sofa. “That’s fine.” He turned his gaze back to his reports, but his attention was still on Malfoy.

____

After a long moment, Malfoy said, “Are you sure you don’t mind? About the radio?”

____

“Not at all.” Harry turned a page he hadn’t read. “I think there’s a match tonight, if you want to listen.”

____

Stiffly, Malfoy crossed the room to sit in the chair, and Harry waved on the radio. They both listened to the game for over fifteen minutes before Malfoy broke the quiet.

____

“I’m sorry if my presence is causing a problem for you. I know it was not easy to spend the day with Atkinson, and I am probably disrupting your personal life.”

____

“Atkinson’s a twit,” Harry replied. “But I meant what I said, I am going to get to the bottom of this case.”

____

“I know,” Malfoy said. “I wish I could be more help to you.”

____

Harry put down the file and started to ask, “What is the deal--” And then Malfoy’s face twisted in horror, and he rephrased. “The not asking questions is very difficult for me.”

____

“I’m sorry.” Malfoy turned away. “I wish--I wish I was able to answer them.”

____

Harry wanted to ask why he couldn’t, but couldn’t think of a different way to say it, so he didn’t. Instead he said, “It would help me to understand the situation better, if I knew why you came here.”

____

And Malfoy gave him a small grin. “And here I thought I was so articulate in my insanity earlier.” He stood up and walked over to the balcony door. “Can I go outside?” He held his hand up to the glass but didn’t actually touch it.

____

“There’s a warming charm out there, it shouldn’t be too cold.” Harry nodded, and picked up his file again. When he looked up later, Malfoy had left the door open and was leaning on the rail looking up at the sky.

____

After a moment, Harry took out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to write down what he knew. Malfoy worked for the Department of Mysteries, division Red. Unspeakable Atkinson was his boss. He lived either in the department or with an Unspeakable. He did research. He did not get enough to eat. He stole something.

__And then Harry wrote down other information. Blood magic, early morning arrival, entered without disturbing wards. Injured and unconscious. Insanity? Delusional? No questions. Too thin._ _

____

He read over his list and realized Malfoy was his only clue. Tomorrow he would go back to work and he would interview the rest of Malfoy’s old friends. And he would have to do that with Atkinson, but the clues were all here in his flat.

____

Harry tucked the paper into a folder and glanced up at the clock. It was after ten. He stood up and looked out where Malfoy was still leaning on the rail and looking up at the stars. “I’m going to bed. I’ll put some blankets and pillows on the sofa for you.” Malfoy didn’t move, and Harry wasn’t sure if he could even hear him.

____

Carefully, Harry cleared away all his papers, he summoned pillows and blankets from the closet, and gave Malfoy one last look. Maybe he would get lucky and by tomorrow, Malfoy would be gone. Harry looked down at the new mark around his thumb. If he closed his eyes, he could still see Malfoy standing on the balcony.

____


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I probably should have put this in the first chapter notes, but I totally forgot. This story is finished. It has nine chapters and an epilogue, and I will be posting one to two chapters per week. I will post chapter 9 and the epilogue at the same time.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the Kudos and the comments, I absolutely adore them. I am glad you guys find the premise of this story interesting and I am hoping the mystery lives up to your expectations!

“Mmmm, tha’s nice,” Harry mumbled, mostly asleep. There was a nice weight draped over his chest and a nose rubbing lightly against the back of his neck. A warmth pressed all along the length of his back, legs tangled closely with his. It had been a long time since Harry had slept next to another warm body, and he missed it. Harry wiggled himself closer, and the person behind him arched against him. “Mmmm.”

He started to roll, to see who he’d brought home. A flash of white hair, and Harry fully woke up and remembered. He jerked and pulled away, much to the disappointment of his body. But Malfoy followed him, eyes still closed and nose now tracing along Harry’s jaw. Harry shoved a hand between them and said, as sternly as he could muster, “Malfoy.”

Slowly, Malfoy’s eyes fluttered open, and his eyes were full of confused innocence.

“Trouble sleeping on the sofa?” Harry asked pointedly.

And Malfoy slowly blinked himself awake. Harry watched the knowledge of his location and actions wash over his face--mouthing the word where, glancing about the room-- and abruptly Malfoy rolled away and fell off the bed, smacking his elbow on the nightstand.

Harry leaned over and saw that Malfoy had taken off the shirt, but left on the joggers. His chest was smooth, just fine blond hair that turned nearly invisible against his pale skin. But it was the scars, long jagged lines that Harry had put there, that caught his attention. He’d never wondered if he had left scars that day, never thought about it at all really. Harry’s eyes traced down them, noting the extent of the damage he had caused. The scars had turned white with time and stretched out across his chest, with one particularly long and wide line that ran past his belly button. They were more interesting than regretful. Perhaps he should feel bad about them, but Harry didn’t. He barely glanced at the faded Dark Mark.

In addition to his scars, there were a number of small, surgical scars scattered across his chest and arms, and these held Harry’s attention. There must have been nearly two dozen across his chest and upper arms. Some long, some short, but all thin, as if made with a scalpel. Harry couldn’t remember anything from school or the war that would have done that to Malfoy. “What happened to you?”

Malfoy glared at Harry, “Puppies and rainbows, Potter. Puppies and rainbows.”

Harry ignored the sarcasm, but irritation was bubbling up again. “I thought you were sleeping on the sofa.”

Malfoy sat up and took a deep breath. “I don’t sleep well,” he admitted.

Seriously? Harry rolled his eyes. “And you thought crawling in next to me, after being pretty clear about not wanting to sleep in my bed, was the way to get a little more shut-eye?” He had meant it to be a statement wrapped up in sarcasm, but Harry couldn’t help the questioning inflection at the end.

Malfoy stood up, adjusted the drawstring on the joggers, and definitely did not look at Harry. “Please forgive my nocturnal activities.” He was formal, like the Malfoy Harry remembered, but also apologetic. And there were unspoken words at the end of that sentence, and if Harry concentrated hard enough on the way Malfoy held himself utterly still he just might have been able to hear them.

But then Malfoy moved. He walked out of the bedroom, picked the shirt up off the floor and began piling papers and replacing utensils that were scattered about the living room. He could have asked, or stated, but Harry decided he really didn’t want to know what had happened out there last night. After a moment more of lounging in bed and trying to will his still very interested erection to give up the chase, his alarm went off, and Harry walked to his closet for clothes.

After pulling on some clean pants and a shirt, he spent several minutes looking over his clothes and trying to pick something for Malfoy rather than tell him he’d burned the brown robes. He settled on a pair of denims he’d never much cared for and a checked button down Ginny had bought him for Christmas when they’d still been dating. Harry’s shoulders had filled out a bit more since then, and it no longer fit properly. Hopefully it wouldn’t fall off of Malfoy.

Out in the living room, Malfoy was piling up the files, the joggers having slipped low over his arse, giving Harry a sneak peak he hadn’t wanted but his cock seemed to be enjoying regardless. He really needed to get laid if Malfoy’s scrawny arse was looking good. When was the last time Harry had pulled? It was a bad sign if he couldn’t remember.

He stepped into the kitchen to brew some coffee rather than watch Malfoy bend over one more time. Malfoy paused in his efforts, pulled up the joggers and tried to tighten the strings before picking up the shirt again. “I-I wanted to thank you. You didn’t have to help me.”

Harry rubbed the scar on his hand again. “I told you, I didn’t do it for you, I’m solving a case. Can’t solve a case without all the facts, and so far, you’re the only fact I have.” He got out a skillet and broke two eggs into a bowl.

“You could have just handed me over to Atkinson and closed the case.” Malfoy wrung the shirt in his hands.

“But I wouldn’t have solved it,” Harry sighed, stirred the eggs with a fork, and poured them into the skillet. It wasn’t really hot enough yet, but Harry was impatient. And besides, it was eggs. Malfoy walked back over to the balcony door, hand ghosting over the glass just as he’d done last night. The sun was up, turning the room a nice golden color, showing Malfoy in a better light. He didn’t look quite so sallow. Harry poured the eggs onto a plate and held it out. “You can eat your breakfast on the balcony, if you want.”

Malfoy stared at the plate for a moment, and then reached out a hand. “You don’t have to be nice to me.”

“I’m not.” Harry began cracking more eggs into the bowl and stirring them up. “I’m protecting the only evidence I have. You should eat that before it gets cold. There’s apples on the counter and bread, too. Turkey for sandwiches in the fridge. Eat whatever you can find for lunch. I’ll probably be back late tonight, so if you get hungry before I’m home, eat some dinner too.” He really looked too skinny, and Harry didn’t like that. No one should be that skinny.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, but he did take his plate out onto the balcony to eat. Harry watched him systematically fork scrambled eggs into his mouth until he realized his own eggs were burning. He ate them anyway, burning his tongue as he forked them out of the skillet.

He poured the coffee into a to-go cup and looked out on the balcony. Malfoy had set his plate on the decking and was back to leaning on the rail. The joggers had slipped down again. “I’m going.” And he left, before his mind caught up to his eyes.

Inside the office, Harry hurried past reception as if desperately late for an important meeting with his desk. It was generally how he walked through the office, and prevented as many people as possible from asking him inane questions about the weekend, or whatever quidditch match he’d listened to, or worse, an article in the Prophet.

When he saw his desk though, Harry wished someone had stopped him. Even Maisie talking about her newest niece would have been preferable to Atkinson lurking behind his chair. “What are you doing here?” Harry tried not to growl, he really did.

“We have interviews.” Aktinson scowled.

“Not this morning. I have an important meeting today.” Harry pulled out his chair, deliberately banging into Aktsinon’s knees.

“Skip it.”

“I am not going to shirk my other duties just because you are incredibly anxious to reclaim some lost property.” Harry pulled his pile of memos and began sorting through them. “Besides, I can’t just skip my performance review. I will catch Malfoy, just not this morning.” And then he studiously ignored Atkinson by arbitrarily sorting his memos until Atkinson stormed out.

Once he was gone, Harry put all the papers back in one pile and actually read through them. Most were silly, reminders about the monthly pub outing, something from Ron about Sunday Lunch or invitations to lunch. A request for an update on the Culpepper case. One from records requesting he file some paperwork. He was almost done by the time Robards was calling him for his performance review.

Resigned, Harry walked into his office and shut the door. “Take a seat, Potter.” Robards gestured across his desk, and this time Harry did sit. “I’ve rated you as Meets Expectations in all categories except one.” He handed a copy of the review to Harry, who quickly scanned it over for the Needs Improvement section which read Personal Interactions. “Your co-workers, with one exception, seem to find you difficult to work with. You’ve been described as terse, unpleasant, and uncommunicative. And those were the nicest words people used to describe their interactions with you.”

Harry stiffened in irritation. “I thought it was my job to catch the bad guy, not to chat with my coworkers about their weekends.”

“I myself have often found you to be difficult, such as the meeting in my office yesterday with Atkinson. I will concede that he is more irritating than most victims, but you showed a surprising lack of empathy. And it isn’t the first time I’ve noticed this in your interactions with victims and families. Why just the other day, Mrs. Culpepper was crying in my office over the way you spoke so crassely about her daughter’s body.”

Harry winced. “I’ll admit that was not my finest moment, but she owls every day for updates, and--”

“Wouldn’t you if someone you loved was murdered?” Robards scolded.

No, Harry thought darkly, because he would be out there hunting down the murderer. But he said, “I guess,” instead.

“I’ll agree, that kind of follow-up is frustrating, but it doesn’t excuse your behavior.” He sighed, “Potter, you’re a good Auror, but you have a communication problem, and it is starting to become my problem. I expect my Aurors to communicate with everyone in a thoughtful and considered way. You seem to be blundering about and shouting at anyone who dares open their mouth.”

Harry opened his mouth to do just that, but Robards cut him off. “If this behavior continues, you’ll have to complete sensitivity training, which I imagine would mean weeks of meetings and paperwork instead of field work. Have I made my point?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry tried not to grumble, he really did.

“Good. You’ll be receiving the standard 3% raise, and we will meet again next month to discuss your progress with communication. That’s all.”

Harry signed his review and handed it back to Robards before returning to his desk. He hadn’t joined the Aurors to make friends, he had Ron and Hermione for that, he hadn’t joined because he wanted to help people either. He’d joined because there were bad people in the world planning and doing bad things that needed to be stopped. Making nice with people wouldn’t stop them.

He might have visited Ron, to complain about this, except that Ron was out interviewing witnesses for a cauldron theft. Which left Harry with the unpleasant option of making nice with Maisie, his only other coworker in the room. Maisie was a reasonably good Auror who spent an awful lot of time talking about her copious nieces and nephews, and Harry never could remember any of their names.

“Er,” Harry cleared his throat. “Hello. How was your weekend?”

Startled, Maisie looked up from her desk. “Are you ill, Potter?”

“No-just-never mind.” Harry shook his head, now desperately unhappy he had started this awkward exchange, and painfully hopeful she would drop it.

Which Maisie did. Because she was observant like a good Auror should be. With one last concerned look in his direction, she went back to her paperwork, and Harry owled a request for the records from Malfoy’s probation meetings and then began to furiously scribble on his own account of yesterday’s interviews

People trickled in and out of the room as the morning dragged on, and Harry wondered who had talked to Robards. Surely not Dean Thomas. But Simmons was a definite possibility. And Maisie too.

When lunchtime rolled around, Harry decided to eat out rather than visit the canteen which would be full of gossipy coworkers and Unspeakables. There was a muggle sandwich shop a few blocks away. It was always very busy but rarely with wizards, and they put bacon on everything.

He took his meat laden sandwich to a park and ate in the sunshine. The salty crisps and pleasant weather improved his mood marginally, and Harry tried smiling when he returned to the office. But Fredrick then ran into a potted plant. So Harry switched to nodding, and then gave up altogether for fear of more injuries.

He spent the afternoon sequestered at his desk and avoiding eye contact while reviewing the Culpepper file. No one had interviewed her favorite Uni Professor. It was unlikely that he knew anything, but then even a weak lead was a lead at this point. So, Harry sent off an owl requesting an appointment and then he sent another to Bulstrode and Goyle. It was a relief when five o’clock arrived and he could leave.

At the apartment, Malfoy was standing in the kitchen, still dressed in the joggers and no shirt. He was awkwardly holding the skillet and looking somewhat dazed at Harry. “I was trying to make you dinner.”

As if that explained the eggs, lunch meat, and bread spread across the counter with the scattered remains of some cheese and what used to be frozen vegetables. Harry tried to breathe deeply in through the nose and out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” he tried explaining again, but Harry had trouble listening while looking at the mess. He held up a hand to silence Malfoy and breathed in, held it for several seconds and then breathed out.

Eventually he gave up because he was too tired for that nonsense and asked, “Did you eat?”

Malfoy put down the skillet and stared at his bare feet which he then shuffled against the floor. “I wanted to make you a nice meal, but I’ve just made a mess.”

It was like looking at a car wreck or a particularly strange crime scene; Harry should be angry, but instead felt a little bit impressed. “I’ll order some take away. Put the dirty dishes in the sink and the food in the trash,” Harry said, opening the nearest drawer and glancing through his takeaway menus. “Do you like Chinese?”

Malfoy had been putting things in the sink, but paused when Harry asked the question. “Questions, Potter,” he said quietly to the sink.

“The fuck,” because the whole day had been a shit show. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Come look at these menus and tell me what you like.”

Malfoy shuffled over, and Harry suddenly remembered shouting about mudbloods in school and the way he’d gone after Buckbeak. Even crying in the bathroom, he raised his wand, that Malfoy had more spine then this one. It was unpleasant to watch, and weirdly Harry yearned for combative Malfoy.

While Malfoy read the menus, Harry pulled food off the counter and threw it away.

“I’ve never eaten any of this,” he said at last. “I’m not very hungry. You should just pick for yourself.”

Harry pinched his nose just like Hermione did when Rose and Hugo were running around and screaming. “Tell me what you ate for lunch.”

Malfoy mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“It’s been a long day. Atkinson was at my desk, I had a meeting with my boss, and everyone in the office was an idiot.” Harry sighed loudly. “Just tell me if you ate or not.”

“I didn’t,” Malfoy admitted loudly. But he hunched up his shoulders, and Harry wondered if he was expecting to be hit. His stomach rolled a little at the thought and he felt angry at everyone, just everyone.

“Fine.” Harry got out his mobile, which he used almost exclusively for ordering takeaway, and found the number for the Chinese restaurant two blocks away. “I’d like two orders of beef lo mein, two orders of egg rolls, and an order of crab rangoons. Thank you.” When he hung up, he looked at Malfoy and said, “I hope you like noodles.”

Malfoy threw away the last of the vegetables. “Thank you.” And then he stood awkwardly in the kitchen as if he didn’t know what else to do.

“Tell me about your day.” Harry opted for small talk over awkward silence while he sorted through the old mail by the door.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Nothing? No shower? No lunch? What did you do, just sit on the sofa?”

“I enjoyed a stroll about town with friends.” Malfoy scowled.

“Can’t you answer a damn question?!” Harry shouted, what little remaining patience he had dwindling to nothing. “I have spent all day dealing with stupid, getting yelled at, and seeing Akinson. I woke up to you, caressing me, which is disturbing enough, but you also wonder about my flat making huge messes with blood and food! I didn’t ask for you to show up and smear blood all over my face, and frankly I’d rather not be involved in this case at all! But here I am letting you live in my apartment and dealing with a shitty Unspeakable while trying to do an impossible job, and you can’t even answer a stupid question. And I don’t even care about the answer!”

Malfoy was not cowering on the floor, but he had shrunk back into the corner with his shoulders curled in. And Harry felt bad immediately for what he said. “I’m just frustrated.”

“I know.” Malfoy straightened up a little. “I know I am difficult and that I can’t answer your questions. I know I’ve asked too much from you. I wish I could explain.” He paused, took a deep breath, and then, for the first time since Harry had arrived home, looked Harry in the eye. “But I drank the tea.” He said it slowly, deliberately, and Harry suddenly remembered Malfoy’s direction the other morning.

“You drank the tea.”

“I drank the tea.” He crossed his arms, but spoke in a calm and clear voice. “If you don’t drink the tea, you don’t have to play by their rules.

“So you drank the tea, and now you can’t answer any of my questions.”

Malfoy tapped his nose with his finger. “I want to help, but I am bound by their rules. Granger might be able to explain it better.”

“She answers my questions,” Harry pointed out.

“Different division, different rules.” Malfoy scowled, and Harry had the distinct impression Malfoy couldn’t say more even if he wanted to.

“And I don’t suppose you can tell me anything about what you were doing in the department or why you might want to steal something.”

Malfoy tapped his nose again.

Harry sighed. “Regardless, I’d still like to know what you did all day.”

Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. “There are things I can say and things I can’t, not just because of the tea. I listened to your review.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Harry shouted and raked his hair with his hands.

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.” Malfoy shrugged.

“You could have listened to the radio! Or read a book! Or made the fucking bed!” Was he going to spend this much time spying on Harry’s life? Because, if that was the case, 

Harry rather thought he might punch Malfoy. Probably several times. In fact, that seemed like a really good idea.

Malfoy licked his lips several times while trying to formulate a reply. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t.” Malfoy glared a challenge at Harry, arms crossed and looking like he wanted Harry to throw a punch.

And for a moment, Harry considered it, imagined pulling his arm back and letting it fly with painful precision. Several times. Even in his imagination, it was exhausting. And besides, the food would be ready soon. “I guess that makes you an enigma wrapped in a mystery coated in sarcasm and asine rules.”

“Pretty much.” Malfoy gave him a smile.

“Want to come with me to get the food?” Malfoy scowled, and Harry raised his hands in defeat. “I know, ‘Questions, Potter. Questions.’ I’m an Auror, we’re supposed to ask questions.” He gave another loud sigh. “I’m going; I’ll be back in fifteen. Try not to ruin anything while I’m gone.” Was that a guilty expression on Malfoy’s face? Harry walked out the door before he could think about it any more.

It took twenty minutes to get the take-away, but Harry was glad of the extra time to enjoy being outside and alone. If he spent the entire day working cases, it would probably drive him insane. And despite Malfoy’s clear desire to help, he was almost as annoying as Atkinson.

Back at the flat, Malfoy was still standing in the kitchen, looking just as lost and confused as the first time Harry had come home. Harry put the take-away on the counter and said, “You should get out some plates. I’m going to fix the telly.”

For a moment longer Mafloy stood in the kitchen, eyes unfocused and hands rhythmically clenching and unclenching. And then, he turned to do just what Harry asked. It took several tries before Malfoy found the plates and forks, but Harry tried not to pay much attention. He plugged in the TV and the antenna, and then waited for the antenna to calibrate. A football match came on, and Malfoy brought over plates of food, and together they sat down. There wasn’t much conversation, and Harry wasn’t sure Malfoy understood the rules, but it was sort of companionable and vaguely pleasant. More pleasant than any other part of the day at any rate. And Malfoy ate the beef lo mein and egg rolls and most of the crab rangoons. And Harry was oddly relieved he was eating. He chose not to think about that.

When the game was over, it was late, and Harry wasn’t sure what to do about sleeping. “I need to get to bed,” he said, and Malfoy looked down at the floor.

“I-I should sleep out here.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to rephrase his question. “Will you stay out here?”

For a moment Malfoy didn’t answer. “Sleeping is difficult for me, the drifting of consciousness and all that.” He was silent for another moment.

“Great.” Harry replied, his head rolling back on the sofa. “It would be better if you stayed out here.”

“I will try.” Malfoy promised, but Harry felt the chances were slim. He really didn’t think Malfoy wanted to wake up in his bed in the morning, but it did irritate the hell out of Harry, and Malfoy had always liked riling Harry up, so who really knew.

“Well, then I guess I’ll say good night.” And Harry stood, walked over to his door, and disappeared inside. Alone, he stipped down to his boxers, tried not to think about anything other than football as he crawled into bed.

*

Harry woke up from his dream to the tickle of blond hair against his nose, to desperate hands clutching at his back, to the press and grind of a cock against his own. Malfoy gasped like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. And Harry was arching and grinding against him, the slide of his boxers, the warm hardness of another cock, it was good. Fuck it was good.

Harry groaned, and forced a hand between them to push Malfoy who once again fell off the bed. “I’m taking a shower.” Harry announced and quickly ran away while telling himself that he wasn’t. He didn’t look at Malfoy still lying on the floor.

Once in the shower, Harry closed his eyes and grabbed a hold of himself. The image was still clear in his mind, sunshine glinting off of Malfoy’s hair, laughing as he pushed Harry into the grass, the sweet friction as he rocked them together. Harry quickly found the rhythm, pulling himself in time with imaginary Malfoy’s rocking until he finished in his own hands in the shower.

He leaned back against the cold tile and said out loud so he could hear himself, “I need to get laid.”

Malfoy was still on the floor, but sitting up, when Harry reappeared wrapped in a towel. He had one leg down and one leg up and leaned his head against his knee. Harry noticed he was still wearing the same joggers. He grabbed the first trousers and shirt he saw and threw them in Malfoy’s direction. “Take a shower and put those on.”

He heard Malfoy stand up, gather the clothes and walk to the door. “You know,” he started, “I wouldn’t mind--It would be okay, if you--you wanted--with me--”

What, exactly, was Malfoy suggesting? Very slowly, Harry leaned out of his closet to look at Malfoy incredulously. “Say that again.”

Malfoy looked up, and Harry felt the heat in his gaze. “In the bed, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do those things with me. It would be fine.”

Luckily Harry had pants on. “Get this straight, that--” he pointed at the bed. “That is my space, it’s private and we will not be discussing it. Additionally, I am not going to sleep with someone at the center of an investigation. That’s not going to happen.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Go take a shower and put on those clothes.”

He waited until he heard the shower turn back on to look at the rumpled bed. It certainly looked as if two people had been having sex there. “And I am definitely not sleeping with someone who says ‘it’s fine.’ That’s the worst adjective for sex. Seriously.” Harry scowled and found a shirt to wear.

_I’m sorry, _Malfoy whispered in his ear.__

____

“I can’t have a moment to myself!” Harry shouted back.

__

_Aren’t you glad I didn’t prick your eyes then! _Harry could hear the laughter in Malfoy’s voice. It sounded like it had in his dream, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was endearing or annoying.__

_____ _

He shook his head and went out to the kitchen to make breakfast. Malfoy had left the bathroom door cracked and steam was seeping out. He decided not to think about how nice it was, having another person in the flat. Malfoy came out as Harry was plating up the eggs. The denims were far too big, but the t-shirt seemed to fit a little better.

_____ _

“I’m going to stop at the store on my way home today. I should be home around six, unless something comes up.” Harry picked up his coffee and left Malfoy standing alone.

_____ _

In his quest to get out of the flat, Harry was early to the office, and spent the first hour reading memos and looking over his murder case file. The professor hadn’t owled, and Harry decided to give it until that afternoon before making a surprise visit. Sure, he’d read through all of this yesterday, but it was that or review his notes from Parkinson’s interview. And Harry didn’t want to think about Malfoy just yet. Ron came over a little after nine with two cups of tea and sat on the edge of his desk.

_____ _

“Mum missed you on Sunday. She made that pork roast you like.”

_____ _

Harry put the statement down. “I’m sorry. Got called in on a new case.”

_____ _

“Another one? What’s Robards thinking?” Ron drank from his cup. For one thing, Robards was very quietly trying to groom Ron for the Head Auror job, and for another, both Ron and Robards had agreed to limit the number of cases Harry took. Harry wasn’t supposed to know, but he did. It had been sort of infuriating at first, but then Harry had gotten over it and he didn’t mind at all now. It meant less people to deal with.

_____ _

“I was requested by the Department of Mysteries.” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice.

_____ _

“Really?” Ron made a face. “What’s that like?”

_____ _

“Frustrating. Won’t let me see the crime scene, won’t let me talk to witnesses, won’t even tell me what was stolen.”

_____ _

“Seriously? And they expect you to solve this case?”

_____ _

“Unspeakable Atkinson seems to think I’m the man for the job.”

_____ _

“Any leads at all?”

_____ _

“Just one. He thinks he knows who the thief is, and I am trying to track him down, but all I’ve learned in the last two days is that no one seems to have seen the git in the last four years.”

_____ _

_Well, up until two days ago. _Malfoy was back to whispering in Harry’s ear. Which was super annoying, but at least he knew Malfoy was listening.__

_______ _ _ _

“The git’s been a real arse,” Harry said, mostly to Malfoy. And then he added, “How was dinner?”

_______ _ _ _

“Ginny came with her hair dyed purple, thought Mum’s head would explode. And then Ginny pointed out Charlie’s been dying his hair for years, and he had an earring, and the fight sort of escalated from there.”

_______ _ _ _

“Sorry I missed it.”

_______ _ _ _

“Wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there. Everyone puts on their company manners when you come to dinner.” Ron sighed. “Hermione had to go to her folks, so there wasn’t anything to stop them.” He took another sip. “You might want to tell Ginny about the case. She’s got it in her head that you found a date.”

_______ _ _ _

Harry took a swallow to give himself a moment. “She’s not gonna come over again, is she?”

_______ _ _ _

“Never know with her these days.” Ron shook his head. “I just don’t understand her right now. Bill says it’s a phase, and Fluer seems to agree with him, but it’s been going on a year now with no end in sight.”

_______ _ _ _

“You want me to talk to her?” Harry asked.

_______ _ _ _

“I wouldn’t ask anyone to do that, especially you.”

_______ _ _ _

“I don’t mind.”

_______ _ _ _

“Well, I’m still not gonna ask.” Ron stood up. “I better get back to work, got another interview in half an hour for that breaking and entering case.”

_______ _ _ _

“Good luck.” Harry said, and Ron walked away.

_______ _ _ _

He worked through his lunch, got an owl back from Professor Connor saying Harry could stop by during office hours that afternoon, and then grabbed a stale looking sandwich from the canteen on his way out the door.

_______ _ _ _

Dr. Connor had a small office with walls that were completely hidden by bookcases and a desk that occupied about half the floor space. It was cluttered, but tidy. Hermione would have been quite at home, but Harry felt a bit claustrophobic.

_______ _ _ _

“Dr. Connor?” Harry asked from the doorway.

_______ _ _ _

“Ah, you must be Auror Potter, please, come in.” He gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk and quickly put aside a long piece of parchment. “Forgive the mess, I’ve got a pile of essays to grade by five this evening. How can I help you?”

_______ _ _ _

Harry took the seat on the right. “I was hoping you could tell me a little more about Marie Culpepper.”

_______ _ _ _

“Yes, Runes 206, liked to sit in the front row. She was always early and always ready for a question. Kept me on my toes.”

_______ _ _ _

“She was murdered two weeks ago.” Harry watched as Dr. Connor stilled, looked down at his hands, licked his lips.

_______ _ _ _

“Yes. Tragedy, such a bright young thing.” He looked up after a moment. “She used to come to office hours, we would talk about the reading or recent papers published. She liked to sit in that chair.”

_______ _ _ _

“Do you know if anyone would want to do something to harm her, any arguments or problems with other students or faculty?”

_______ _ _ _

“She was generally well liked by her classmates.” Dr. Connor nodded. “Although, occasionally I would see her with another student. I wouldn’t say they were arguing exactly, but it was easy to tell they disagreed about something. She never spoke of it to me.”

_______ _ _ _

“Do you know who the student was?”

_______ _ _ _

“No. I assumed her boyfriend.” In all the interviews Harry had done, a boyfriend hadn’t come up once.

_______ _ _ _

“Can you describe him for me?”

_______ _ _ _

“Sure. Taller, but not excessively. He had brown hair, brown eyes, muscled--the kind of guy who looked like he played rugby. Oh, and a tatoo on his arm. I didn’t get a good look at it.”

_______ _ _ _

“Thanks.” Harry stood up. “I appreciate your time.”

_______ _ _ _

“Anytime.” Dr. Connor waved his hand.

_______ _ _ _

It wasn’t until after Harry stepped into the hall that he realized just what it was that felt so familiar about Dr. Connor. He reminded Harry of Lupin; friendly, helpful, invested in the success of his students. His description of the boyfriend seemed familiar too.

_______ _ _ _

“Malfoy,” he said softly to the empty hallway. “I need a favor.”

_______ _ _ _

_By all means, Potter. I live to serve. ___

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“There’s a file on the table, Marie Culpepper. Can you look through it for me? I’m looking for someone with a tattoo on their arm.”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

There was a long moment of silence, and Harry tried to be patient. _Roommate’s boyfriend, brown hair, brown eyes, tattoo on his right bicep. Name: Greyson. ___

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Thanks, Malfoy.” Harry remembered that interview. Greyson had an airtight alabi for the time of the murder, having been in a holding cell for drunk and disorderly. But if Dr. Connor thought they were dating, maybe there was other information Greyson was holding out on. And if they were dating, that opened up a new angle to investigate. Greyson lived off campus. Harry couldn’t remember the address, but all those houses had stupid signs on them, and Greyson’s had been called Triple Threat. Shouldn’t be that hard to find.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He walked through the neighborhood for about an hour before finding the rundown house on the corner And, as luck would have it, Greyson was sitting out on the porch with a beer.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry waved and stepped onto the grass. “Hey, got a minute for some questions?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Greyson shrugged and opened another beer. “Whadya want?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You were seen arguing with Marie before her murder. What was the argument about?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Greyson squinted, clearly confused. “Arguing? Marie and I got along great. We didn’t argue.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Dr. Connor saw you?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Still just confusion.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Outside her Runes class?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

For a moment longer Greyson stared at Harry. “You mean like two months ago? Merlin, that was like forever ago. She was seeing this guy, total arsehole, texted in the middle for the night, called the dorm room at all hours. Kept waking Jenna up, and she was pissed as all get out over it. And Marie was all messed up over it too, got real quiet and defensive. I talked to her about it, and a few days later she said she was all done with the guy.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You know who the guy was?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Greyson shook his head. “Never did meet him, and pro’lly good, ‘cause I mighta decked him.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Great, mysterious ex-boyfriend. Harry sighed, a lead he couldn’t follow wasn’t any help. “Where’s Jenna? Maybe she knows something.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Greyson shrugged. “Probably in the library, but I doubt it. She and I used to talk about it, before Marie broke things off. She didn’t know anything then, I doubt she knows anything now.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Thanks anyway.” Harry cast a quick tempus. He needed to get back to the office and work on Malfoy’s case before Atkinson stopped by again.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

*

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Back at his desk around 4:30, Harry sent an owl off to Hogwarts requesting Malfoy’s transcripts, and then he remembered he wanted to check the trace on Malfoy's wand and send a memo off to Records for that. The probation records had arrived while he was out, and Harry briefly considered skimming through them before leaving, but Malfoy was at home and Harry needed to go to get something for them to eat.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Despite the fact that Harry had not spent all day at his desk, he still felt worked up. It would be bad to get home with all this excess energy, who knew what he might end up doing. At least he’d get a little exercise walking to the supermarket.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In fact, Harry decided, he should run to the supermarket, burn off more energy, and maybe he ought to go for a run after dinner too. Maybe he’d sleep like the dead then. No dreams would be good. And luckily, he had some clothes stashed in his locker for sparring practice. With that decided, Harry ran the three kilometers to the store.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The burn in his legs and the ache in his chest felt good, and cheerily, Harry grabbed a basket at the store entrance to hold the eggs, bread, cheese, and lunchmeat (for Malfoy to make sandwiches during the day). He picked up some chicken thighs, a bag of potatoes, and more frozen vegetables for tonight. And then Harry grabbed bagged lettuce, in case Malfoy is a salad person and some frozen fish. With a full basket, he strolled to the register. He felt good enough that he even smiled at the cashier.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When Harry opened the door to the flat, just a few minutes passed six, he saw the glow from the television and Malfoy crouched on top of the coffee table with his face about fifteen centimeters from the screen. “You’re going to hurt your eyes doing that.” Harry said as he carried the groceries over to the kitchen.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Very slowly, Malfoy turned his head, his eyes were dilated and he moved so slowly, that Harry wondered just how long he had been perched there. Even slower still, as if his body had forgotten how to move, Malfoy unfolded himself to stand on the floor. But he had a wild look about his eyes.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He was wearing the joggers again and still no shirt revealing dried blood on his arms. The apartment didn’t look in shambles, although the bathroom and bedroom doors were closed, so there was no real way to tell. The endorphin high was retreating, but Harry didn’t feel the expected irritation, just a sort of vague concern that bordered on numbness.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I gave you clean clothes to wear,” Harry said as he set the chicken on the counter and put away other items. He didn’t ask about the blood; he didn’t want to know.  


___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy didn’t reply, just wrapped one hand protectively around the wound on his arm. Somewhere he had acquired a bracelet, and now, with the groceries taken care of, Harry couldn’t ignore it any longer. He stepped out from behind the counter. “Let me see your arm.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy shuffled forward, let go of the wound, and turned his arm over. He’d scored his arm lightly in a cross hatch pattern, just deep enough to bleed but not deep enough it would scar. “What happened?” He asked absently during his inspection.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Rainbows and puppies.” Malfoy muttered and pulled his arm away. He still hadn’t looked Harry in the eye.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I can heal that for you.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Don’t.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Then let me clean off the blood.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’ll just have to do it again.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Well that begs a question.” Harry pointed out, but didn’t actually ask the question. He stepped back into the kitchen and put the chicken in a pan.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Ask a different one.” Malfoy finally turned and looked at him.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Didn’t I give you clean clothes this morning?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“They’re in the bathroom.” Malfoy replied, and Harry was shocked by the fact that he answered a question, sort of. His answer was at least on topic. “But I wouldn’t go in there. I still haven’t figured out how to clean.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry had been cutting potatoes when Malfoy said this, and he remembered that Malfoy didn’t have a wand. It was such a strange thing, after all this time, to encounter a wizard without one. “You could always use my spare wand,” he suggested.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy sat down on the sofa. “No, thank you.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry tried again. “I am giving you permission.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And while the gesture is appreciated, I will not be using your wand.” Malfoy picked up the remote, but didn’t change the channel.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I know there’s a trace on your wand, but no one could track you through mine. Unless Atkinson has figured out some new way to track you specifically,” Harry said, but he didn’t know if that was even possible.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy gave a harsh bark of laughter. “That was probably true once.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I could get you a new wand.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Let it go, Potter.” He clutched the remote to his chest and watched the newscaster talk about muggle parliament. “I’m sorry about the bathroom.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry sighed loudly. “I am tired of cleaning the bathroom. If getting you a new wand means you can clean, then I will do that.” Harry threw potatoes into the skillet angrily and sprinkled salt and pepper on everything.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You can’t always get what you want.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Not in my experience,” Harry said, in part to be funny, but also because when you save the wizarding world multiple times before graduation, people tend to just give you whatever you want.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, as much as I might like to indulge your over developed ego, I drank the tea,” he said without looking away from the TV. “And you didn’t.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It was the final straw for Harry. He’d been trying, very hard, to be nice. His exercise high had completely disappeared now, and that concerned feeling had evaporated in the face of Malfoy’s blatant sarcasm and selfishness. All that was left was anger. If Harry was going to try then Malfoy had better start too! “Is that why you told me not to drink the tea?! So you could keep your inane little secrets! I swear to you, Malfoy, I will solve this, and when I do, so help me God, I am going to make sure you get exactly what you deserve.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy leapt over the back of the sofa in one, impressive, bound, he stormed into the kitchen, and with a burst of strength he pushed Harry against the countertops. His eyes were too bright, almost glowing and his arms were unyielding. He was like a wild creature, stalking and menacing. And Harry had to remember not to be cowed.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Good,” Malfoy growled. “I want you to solve this case, and then I want you to shout from the rooftops, I want you to print it in the Prophet, I want you to go to the Wizengot and the Minister and tell everyone! Do what you want with me, throw me in Azkaban, sentence me to the Kiss. But you tell everyone. Do you understand me? Everyone.” His voice was a low hiss, and Harry was surprised at the strength of it, at the anger.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I will,” he growled back and pushed against Malfoy who didn’t budge. “I will solve this case, in spite of you and Atkinson,” He shoved again. “And I will make sure that everyone knows what you’ve done!”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Swear it.” Malfoy hissed, face a breath away. “Swear it!”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I swear!” Harry pushed him back against the stove.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And Malfoy grabbed a knife and Harry’s hand, sliced it open-sliced his own- and pressed them together. “Good.” He pushed Harry away with far less force than before and stepped out of the kitchen.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What was that?” Harry demanded, still all pent up anger and frustration and wanting to fight.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy turned and held up his bloody hand. “Questions Potter. If you want me to answer questions, you’ll have to drink the tea. But drink that tea, and you won’t be able to honor your Vow to me.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It was a good thing the counter was between them, and the stove hot with cooking chicken and potatoes, or Harry might have dived at Malfoy. “I hate you.” Harry scowled and started to turn the chicken over, still breathing hard and unable to come down.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Hate me all you want,” Malfoy said, back to crouching on the sofa and staring at the news. If he said anything else, Harry couldn’t hear it.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

By the time the food was cooked, the tension in the room had dropped marginally, and they were both able to sit in front of the telly to eat without fighting. Harry had cleaned the bathroom after flipping the chicken. He tried not to think about what had caused Malfoy to bleed all over everything.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry took the remote from Malfoy when he handed over the plate of food and changed the channel to some sort of science show because he really didn’t care about politics and he couldn’t find another football match. Malfoy watched in silence as the narrator talked about the different layers of the Earth’s core and picked at his food. Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of the fight, because of Atkinson, or because Malfoy just didn’t eat, but he definitely didn’t like the way Malfoy seemed incapable of taking care of himself.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eventually, he broke the silence. “Those trousers need to be washed.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Why Potter, is that your way of getting into my pants?” Malfoy drawled, sounding very much like himself, and Harry didn’t like the way he felt reassured.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Please. I prefer my men not half starved and crazy. And I prefer my crazy houseguests to wear clean clothes. Next time just find something in my closet to wear and put the dirty clothes in the hamper.” He didn’t look at Malfoy, but the silence emanating from Malfoy was palpable.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eventually he said, “Thank you,” and put his plate on the coffee table. “I know you don’t have to put up with me, and I know-I know I am an imposition.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Was it always going to be like this? “I’ll admit you make me a little crazy.” Harry crossed his arms and stared intently at the magma billowing up on the screen. “But, as long as you stop climbing into my bed at night, and you don’t make a mess in the bathroom every day, I think we’ll both survive this.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After the science program, they watched a program on foxes, and when Harry started to gather the dirty dishes, Malfoy stood up too. “You cooked. I should clean.”  


___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You don’t have a wand.” Harry pointed out gently.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Surely there’s a muggle way to do this.” Malfoy didn’t look at him.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yeah, I can show you how to wash dishes.” Harry nodded. They carried everything into the kitchen, and Harry scrounged up some dish soap he’d bought before he’d realize he could just magic away the mess. And together they washed the dishes while a man talked about breeding foxes in Russia.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Is cleaning the bathroom the same?” Malfoy asked.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Mostly.” Harry said. “I’ll need to buy some things you spray and then you wipe it up with a towel or scrub it with a sponge and then rinse it off. I’ll show you later.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It was calming, rhythmic, almost meditative, Harry realized, watching Malfoy carefully and methodically scrub each dish, dip the dish in the rinse water and then Harry carefully dried it with a towel and put it back in the cupboards. They washed all the dinner dishes, and then Malfoy went back to the sofa to finish the show.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry sat down in the chair to read over files and eventually, Malfoy fell asleep on the sofa. Harry watched the rise and fall of his chest, the long white line of his throat. He looked carefully at the scars that crossed his chest and arms and wondered just what had happened to him. He looked at the drawstring of the joggers, low, showing the harsh points of his hips and the small ghosting of blond hair. And he thought about what might be underneath all that fabric. What would he look like? What color would it be erect and straining? Would it be pink and pretty with all the blood or red and angry?

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Stop that.” Malfoy muttered and rolled over, giving Harry a better view of his arse. “Or did you want to take me to bed?”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You need to wear different trousers,” Harry replied and abruptly stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Okay.” Malfoy rubbed his face into the back of the sofa, his nose caressing the leather as if it were skin.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry’s voice caught in his throat and he remembered that morning. “I’m going to lock my door.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“S’a good idea.” Malfoy rolled onto his stomach rolling his hips back and forth and then thrusting against the sofa. Harry had to walk away before he couldn’t. He locked his bedroom door with the image of Malfoy still in his head, and he pulled his pants down right there, leaning against the door and breathing hard as he tugged himself trying to ignore the noises coming from the living room and only listening harder for them.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

*

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry woke up to stumbling and crashing out in the living room and thought ‘Again?’ Malfoy was moaning wordlessly, and Harry was a little impressed that he could hear it through the solid door. It was the crashing though that worried him though and the worry actually roused him from the bed. He padded quietly to the door, but stopped to listen before opening it. He heard Malfoy’s hand hit the door. “Don’t!”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Well, that was an invitation if Harry had ever heard one. He waited a moment, until he heard Malfoy stumble and knock over a chair, and then quietly opened the door.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The room was in chaos. Papers, books, everything from the kitchen flying through the air. All the drawers in the kitchen were thrown open and the furniture had been tossed around like leaves, the sofa was actually tipped up and pointing at the ceiling. And there was Malfoy, stumbling through the mess, clutching his head, and still moaning.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What is this?” Harry cried out.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy froze, hands still on his head, and the items in the room froze and hung in the air. “No no no!” He crouched down on the floor and began rocking back and forth. “No!”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry picked his way carefully through the mess in the air until he came up next to Malfoy. “Talk to me, Malfoy.” He put a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Everything hit the floor, the sofa fell so hard a leg broke, as did many of the dishes. And Malfoy turned to face Harry, but couldn’t see him. His pupils were pinpricks and unfocused. He flipped his hand, and the debris parted.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

With painfully slow movements, Malfoy turned his body to face Harry. He raised his hand again in front of Harry’s chest and pushed it forward. Harry was pushed back to his room, with his other hand, Malfoy shut the door.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry tried the knob with equal parts panic and hopelessness. It didn’t open, but he heard Malfoy on the other side. “It’s a bad time to talk, Potter.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And that was the last Harry heard. He strained against the door, he tried to open it a few more times, but nothing. He stood there, struggling to hear, but if there was a noise, he couldn’t hear it. After an hour, Harry gave up and went back to bed where he couldn’t sleep.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

*

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When Harry’s alarm buzzed in the morning, the room was back to normal, the dishes and sofa not fixed but carefully arranged for a quick reparo.. Malfoy was sitting on the cement of the balcony, and Harry walked outside. “What was that last night? And don’t say puppies and rainbows.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy was silent for a long moment. “I should leave. I thought--” He shook his head, hair falling in wisps about his ears. “but I was wrong.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Where are you going to go?” Harry asked, not trying to be unkind but realistic.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Malfoy didn’t answer.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And because Harry needed to know. “Last night was different.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The harsh bark of laughter answered Harry’s question. “That would be nice.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“So you sleep better next to me.” Harry shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Lots of people sleep better next to a warm body.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You don’t like it.” Malfoy stared out at the flats across the street. “I should leave.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Fuck, Malfoy. What happened to you?” And when Malfoy opened his mouth to lie, Harry said, “It’s a rhetorical question, for Merlin’s sake.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I don’t know what to do.” Malfoy said after a moment.

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Well,” Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess you’ll just have to sleep in the bed.”

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

On Friday, Harry came home to the smell of roasting chicken and potatoes. And there was a salad sitting out on the counter. It should have looked odd, but Malfoy had been experimenting with things in the kitchen all week. This was just the first day he’d made something that smelled edible. 

Malfoy set plates on the counter by the stove when Harry noticed the joggers. They were still too big despite the amount of food Harry insisted Malfoy eat. They were still distracting, the way he could see Malfoy’s hips bones and the light smattering of hair that trailed down. It was still sort of offensive in that horribly skinny way, but since Harry hadn’t had a chance to get off in that morning, also highly arousing. 

They each fixed a plate and found a seat in front of the telly, as was their habit now. Harry had found another football match and was in the midst of reading Malfoy’s probation records when Malfoy shoved aside his half eaten chicken and left the room. Harry watched him walk into the bedroom and shut the door. His arse really did look good in those pants Harry decided and then shook the thought from his head and tried to concentrate on the work in front of him. 

Over the first year of his probation, Malfoy had five different aurors overseeing him, and it was sometimes difficult to sort when complaints had been legitimate and when they were colored by the officer in charge. Harry read a lot of statements such as “Malfoy refused to make eye contact and claimed his actions were self defense.” “Malfoy has received high praise from Unspeakable J for the quality of his research but unable to verify due to confidentiality constraints.” “Malfoy was over fifteen minutes late and refused to explain the black eye; this is his third unexplained injury.” “Malfoy was insubordinate.” “Unspeakable J has filed for a transfer of responsibility.” 

In truth, Harry shouldn’t have been reading these documents at home at all due to their confidential nature and the strict guidelines for confidential documents. But since Harry lived alone Robards had given him permission, and Harry didn’t leave the really confidential items alone with Malfoy. 

The floo chimed, giving Harry about half a second of warning before Ginny stepped out. Harry felt a wave of panic induced nausea. 

“Ginny?” He asked while trying not to look at the bedroom door. 

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled. “Thought I’d drop by. How are you?” 

“Fine.” Harry put down his file and looked around the room. “Is there a reason for this visit?” 

“You weren’t at dinner on Sunday. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Which was clearly nonsense or she would have stopped by earlier. “What were you doing?” She took off her robes and draped them over the sofa. 

Harry very specifically did not look at the bedroom door or the extra dishes. But there was evidence of Malfoy all over the room. It was much tidier than usual for one, although Ginny was unlikely to notice that. “Working a case,” he answered carefully. 

“Well, you missed a huge row between Mum and me.” She flopped down on the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table. Right next to Malfoy’s plate, Harry couldn’t help but see. 

“Ron mentioned it,” he muttered into his file, hoping desperately she wouldn’t look around much. He hid the probation records underneath Malfoy’s Hogwarts transcripts. He wasn’t really worried about Ginny snooping in those as she’d never been terribly interested when they’d been together and even less so now that they weren’t. 

It was the extra plate he didn’t want Ginny to find. 

It was a doomed hope he realized when her gaze immediately landed on the half empty plate. She looked over at him. “That’s certainly a pile of work.” 

“It’s a missing persons case. Sort of.” Harry put down the parchment. “Why are you here?” Maybe changing the subject back to her would distract her? 

“Ron told me you were working on this new case, that’s why you missed dinner.” She looked at him pointedly. “I thought maybe you found a nice bloke.” 

“And you’re, what? Looking for evidence? It’s Friday. Did you think he stuck around all week?” 

“Yeah,” she leaned her head back and sighed. “If you weren’t home, that would have given my theory a little more evidence. But here you are.” She sat back up and her eyes landed on the laundry basket piled with folded clothes and then they flickered to Malfoy’s plate. “Why do you have two plates?” she asked, suddenly much cheerier. 

“One’s from yesterday.” Harry picked up Malfoy’s transcripts to hide his face. 

“They have the same food on them.” Ginny pointed out. 

“Leftovers.” Harry insisted. 

But Ginny was already up and peering around the room, noting the second glass of water, the rumpled throw at the end of the sofa, the t-shirt hanging off the back. She made her way to the bedroom door. “We’ll just see about that!” 

“Please!” Harry called out fruitlessly. 

And then the door opened. He looked like Malfoy, but with another face on top, and Harry blinked in confusion. His hair was still blond, but not that pristine white color, more of a streaky blond. His cheeks had filled out, his chin was more rounded, his eyes chocolate brown. He was wearing the denims and a checked button up. “Hullo.” His voice was different too, lower. It was weird, and Harry didn’t like it. 

“Well, hello to you!” Ginny perked up. “What’s your name?” 

Harry froze in a panic, but Malfoy just held out his hand and said, “Trevor. And who might you be?” 

“I'm Ginny.” Ginny shook his hand. She turned, with a full grin of delight, to Harry. “I knew there was someone else here!” She squealed. “Where did you guys meet? When? I want to know everything!” 

Malfoy led her back to the sofa, and they sat down next to each other. “It was that Chinese place just a couple of blocks away. What? About two months ago now?” He turned to Harry and batted his eyes. 

It looked ridiculous, and Harry smiled and shook his head just as Malfoy intended. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I’m fabulous!” Malfoy retorted. 

“You met someone while waiting in line for takeaway?” Ginny was looking at Harry, but Malfoy answered. 

“Well, I may have spilled some sauce on his shirt, accidentally of course, and then insisted I buy him a pint to make up for it.” 

“Awww,” Ginny cooed. “That is adorable.” 

Malfoy turned on the sofa to Harry. “See, she thinks I’m adorable.” 

“You’re full of bullshit is what you are.” Harry muttered darkly, and Malfoy laughed. Head arched back, throat exposed, a real laugh that filled the apartment and brought an equally real smile to Harry’s face. He quickly covered that up. 

“Well, aren’t you a grouch today.” Ginny threw a napkin at Harry which hit him square on the nose. 

And Harry set aside the papers for good for the evening. “Harry,” Malfoy tilted his head back, and Harry just knew he was doing that thing with his throat on purpose. As if he knew Harry had a fixation on Malfoy’s throat, on the delicate lines, on the easy way he could wrap his hands around and squeeze, or perhaps just lick. “How do you know Ginny? Should I be jealous?” 

“She’s my friend Ron’s sister.” Harry bristled a little, because of course Malfoy knew everything already. 

“We dated a little,” Ginny admitted. “But then he realized he was gay, and I decided I was into guys who were less rude,” she said pointedly. 

Harry threw his hands up. “I’m getting a drink. Anybody else want one?” 

“What are you drinking?” Ginny asked. Malfoy didn’t answer, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was because he wanted one or not. 

While Harry and Ginny perused the meager beer selection, Malfoy drifted over to the transcript, his fingers brushing over the Hogwarts crest at the top. “Trevor, tell Ginny about your job.” Harry said, a little vengeful and hopeful Malfoy would tell the truth. 

But it wasn’t to be, when Ginny followed it up with, “Yeah, what do you do?” 

“Potions research.” Malfoy said absently, picking up his plate and bringing it over to the kitchen. Harry had gotten out three beers, but Malfoy ignored it on the counter. “I source rare ingredients. It’s a family business.” 

“Can’t imagine working with my family,” Ginny replied. “God, can you imagine all of us at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes? I’d have to be committed for matricide.” 

“It’s just me and my mother now.” Malfoy shrugged. “And she travels a lot to meet suppliers. I don’t think I’ve seen her in over four years.” 

There was a longing in his voice, and it made Harry sad because Narcissa was never going to make it out of the Janus Thickey Ward. And then he reminded himself he was in fact not dating a bloke named Trevor who hadn’t seen his only family, and that Malfoy was a git who had gate crashed his life and he didn't have to feel sorry for Malfoy at all. 

“Really?” Ginny looked utterly horrified at the thought. “I can’t imagine not seeing my mum in that long, although, I could probably go a month or two and not be upset. But four years? That’s a long time.” 

“I do miss her,” Malfoy confessed. 

Harry didn’t say anything, but the way Malfoy’s fingers played across the counter and how he didn’t look anyone in the eye pulled at Harry’s chest. And then bright sunny Trevor was back. “Shall we watch the rest of the game?” 

Ginny took the chair, and Harry sat next to Malfoy on the sofa. Another football match that maybe would have bored Ron, but Ginny was a Chaser for the Harpies and liked watching sports of all kinds. Sometimes football matches gave her ideas for new plays to try. Eventually, Malfoy fell asleep, his head falling against Harry’s shoulder. He looked peaceful in the blue light. 

“Hand me my wand, Ginny?” He whispered, and Ginny passed it over without looking away from the game. Carefully, Harry charmed Malfoy into the bedroom, and watched him nest into the pillows and blankets. 

When he came back out, Ginny was watching him. “I’m happy for you Harry. He seems like a nice bloke.” 

“You mean a horrible git?” Harry joked half-heartedly. Because it was weird to hear anyone say something nice about Malfoy, even if they didn’t know it was Malfoy. 

“I mean, it seems like the two of you get along. And I saw how you looked at him, with that little half smile tucking him into bed. You two might tease each other, but you care about him.” Which was an even weirder thing to hear. 

Harry considered her words. Maybe, if caring meant he didn’t like the way Malfoy still sometimes only ate half his food and was still too skinny and cut himself up and left the blood to dry. “I suppose.” Harry admitted. “He can be a right pain in the arse, and half the time I wish he wasn’t here, but--” He shrugged unwilling to say the words out loud. 

_Thanks, Potter, _Malfoy said. _You’re not a complete git either. _____

_____ _

“Are you coming to Sunday dinner?” Ginny asked. “You know Mum wouldn’t mind if you brought him.” 

_____ _

“I am not sure I’m ready for that!” Harry laughed lightly and then looked at the closed bedroom door. He didn’t say he wasn’t sure he was ready to leave Malfoy alone on a Sunday either. “We’ll see what happens,” he said with a shrug for Ginny. 

_____ _

*

_____ _

Saturday was a complete nightmare. Of course it started out that way, with Malfoy breathing against his neck, thrusting languidly against him, and Malfoy’s hand lightly stroking. The perfect beginning to lazy morning sex. If Harry was interested in lazy morning sex with Malfoy. Which he wasn’t, regardless of what his cock wanted. 

_____ _

But Harry didn’t get up. He didn’t push Malfoy away. In fact, he tried very, very hard not to think about anything at all. Abruptly, Malfoy moved, pulled away from Harry completely. Harry didn’t roll over, but he listened intently as Malfoy stood up and walked quietly out of the room. The shower started. 

_____ _

And then Harry was thinking. Thinking about what it would be like if he had rolled over, all the way over, until he was on top of Malfoy. Legs straddled, cocks rubbing, would Malfoy close his eyes and make those mewling noises? Would he stare Harry in the eye, silently demanding? Would he still be sleepy, eyes half lidded and unknowingly wanton? What would he look like as Harry pushed slick fingers inside? Would he squirm or go still? Would his eyes open or shut? And when Harry found that spot? What would Malfoy do? Harry stroked himself harder, squeezing and thrusting, and coming to the image of Malfoy pinned beneath him. 

_____ _

And then he was ashamed. All week, he’d been ignoring the fact that it was Malfoy next to him during those moments and then focused on nothing at all when Malfoy was awake. When Malfoy went to the shower first, he’d laid silent and still, willing his erection away. And in the shower, well, behind closed doors, alone with the warm water, it wasn’t as if Malfoy could see what he fantasized about there. But this was a whole different moment, in the place they were both sleeping, so close to the actual moment. He wiped his sticky hand on the sheets and waited for the shower to turn off. 

_____ _

Which, fifteen minutes later, was still on. Groaning, Harry got up and went and banged on the door. “Hey, hurry up in there!” Three minutes later, the shower was still on, and Harry banged on the door again. It took another minute, but the water turned off. Instead of lurking next to the door, Harry decided to cook breakfast. He cracked two eggs into the skillet, and then, because he decided it would make his morning better, added cheese. 

_____ _

It wasn’t until after Harry had polished off his eggs, walked back into his room, and picked out clothes for the day that Malfoy came out of the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and immediately put on his clothes from yesterday. Harry kept his head firmly ducked inside the closet. 

_____ _

When Harry came out of the closet, a pun that was not lost on him, Malfoy was eating toast. “I usually clean the apartment and go to the supermarket on Saturdays.” Harry said. Malfoy shrugged, and Harry took that as consent to the day’s activities. “You take care of the kitchen while I clean the bedroom,” he said because he didn’t want to have a debate about it. 

_____ _

“I can do laundry while you go to the supermarket,” Malfoy said, and Harry took that as an agreement. 

_____ _

They both got to work, mostly in silence, Harry in the bedroom and Malfoy picking up dirty dishes in the living room. Harry threw the piles of dirty clothes into the hamper with more force than strictly necessary due to leftover irritation from his morning daydream. When he peeked out the door, Malfoy was skulking around the room with a deep frown. For a brief moment, he wondered what Mafloy’s problem was, and then decided it was just Malfoy being Malfoy. 

_____ _

A little over an hour later, the apartment was cleaner than it had been since Harry moved in. And even though it was time for the supermarket, Harry dithered, sorting the laundry into piles for washing and digging out the detergent. He wasn’t really thinking about laundry though. All week, Malfoy had been the one doing the cooking, but Malfoy didn’t leave the flat. Harry certainly didn’t want to do something with Malfoy, but should he ask what kind of groceries to buy? 

_____ _

He fussed underneath the kitchen counter, finding the cleaning supplies for the bathroom and laundry detergent for Malfoy to take down to the basement. Harry debated whether to find some old rags for cleaning or digging out his last roll of paper towels, and he surreptitiously watched Malfoy as he mumbled to himself. Harry didn’t catch very many of the words, and he wasn’t sure if Malfoy was just talking to himself or going round the bend again. Either way, it was aggravating. And eventually, Harry had to leave. 

_____ _

“I’m going to the store. Is there anything you need?” 

_____ _

Malfoy jerked up and said stupidly, “What?” 

_____ _

“Never mind.” Harry shook his head, finally having lost the last of his limited patience. “I’m leaving. I’ll be back later.” 

_____ _

“Okay.” 

_____ _

Harry didn’t look at him as he left the apartment. He walked to the supermarket, having for several years now preferred the Tesco almost a kilometer away because It was nice to buy toilet paper from people who didn’t know him as the Savior of the Wizarding World. Once inside, Harry made a point of walking up and down each and every aisle to kill time before queuing at the checkout. It didn’t take up nearly enough time, and Harry felt claustrophobic at the idea of returning to the flat. And, considering he’d lived in a cupboard for eleven years, he felt that rather said a lot. 

_____ _

Instead of heading home, Harry scribbled a note on the back of his receipt about needing to run some other errands, and charmed the groceries home, assuming (not unreasonably) that Malfoy would put them away. On a bit of a whim, really, he decided to stop by Diagon Alley. It was a bit of a tourist destination, not undeservedly, and he spent several hours wandering through various shops. Most were filled with people doing early holiday shopping, and normally Harry hated the strangers who didn’t always keep their voices or fingers down. But it had been such a long time since Harry had just been out in wizarding London that the change was sort of pleasant, even with the not so hushed whispers. 

_____ _

It was close to dinner time when Harry returned home. Malfoy wasn’t in the flat when he arrived, and for a brief moment Harry panicked. Where had he gone? Had Atkinson found him? Was he out wandering the streets in some bout of insanity? At least he couldn’t apparate. 

_____ _

Harry hurried back to the door, and as soon as he opened it, he heard laughter in the hallway. Malfoy was laughing. He was walking towards the flat with a basket of folded laundry on his hip next to a woman with honey blond hair. “Yeah, that’s probably true.” Malfoy smiled at her. “Oh, hey Harry. Have you met Grace?” 

_____ _

“Been here two years, and I don’t think we’ve ever met.” Grace stuck her hand out for Harry to shake. “I don’t know if that makes you a good neighbor or not.” She had an American accent. 

_____ _

Harry carefully shook her hand. “I’ve not had any complaints,” he said, trying to be friendly. 

_____ _

“Nice to finally meet you.” She smiled widely and then looked at Malfoy. “Let me know if you need help with anything else.” 

_____ _

“Thanks.” Malfoy grinned. “I will definitely take you up on that offer.” She disappeared into her flat, and Harry held the door open for Malfoy. 

_____ _

“Seems like you are making friends,” Harry remarked obliquely. 

_____ _

“We were both in the laundry room. She helped me with the coins.” Malfoy put the basket down inside the bedroom and walked over to the balcony door. His happy demeanor was quickly dissipating. 

_____ _

Harry wandered over to the kitchen where a pot was happily steaming on the stove. “That smells good. Is it ready to eat?” 

_____ _

Malfoy didn’t move from the window, and Harry decided to ignore him. He lifted the lid off the pot; it smelled ready. “Are you going to eat?” 

_____ _

“I ate not too long ago,” Malfoy said, still looking out the window. Harry gave him a sideways glance, but decided to ignore the odd behavior. He was trying to hold onto the good feelings he had from being outside the flat. Malfoy stayed at the door while Harry ate, while Harry watched some made for TV movie, and even while Harry went off to bed. He’d been able to ignore it for a while, but that behavior was disconcerting and annoying and it made Harry feel itchy. 

_____ _

He locked the door vindictively, stripped naked, and then crawled into bed where he tossed and turned for over an hour before drifting into an uneasy sleep full of disconcerting dreams that had nothing to do with Malfoy but involved a lot of running through London. 

_____ _

*

_____ _

Hours after he had gone to bed that night, Harry heard Malfoy stumbling around the living room. For the third time in a week, Harry was immediately on edge. Malfoy was groaning loudly in pain, and Harry grabbed his wand and flung the door open. 

_____ _

“No!” Malfoy shouted, pushed his hand, palm out, at the door which then slammed shut in Harry’s face. 

_____ _

“What?” Harry said stupid with shock. He carefully cracked the door open and peeked through with one eye. Malfoy was clutching his head with one hand and groping about blindly with the other, stumbling into the sofa, the counter, the door. And muttering, “no, no, no, no, no,” until he collapsed on the floor with his back pressed into the corner of the cabinets. At least nothing was flying through the air. 

_____ _

He drew his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth, face pressed hard into his knees. If he didn’t know better, Harry would have said he was crying. But Harry had seen him crying, and this was different. And it wasn't like earlier in the week which had been anger and desperation and danger. This, this was just desperation. 

_____ _

In sixth year, Draco had seemed like a man facing a dilemma. And during the week, Malfoy had been fighting something. This creature stumbling around the flat now was like a wounded animal with no sense or reason. Harry crept out slowly, not wanting to startle him into slamming the door shut again. There wasn’t any blood that Harry could see, but that didn’t mean Malfoy hadn’t hurt himself. As he got closer, he could make out some of the words Malfoy was whispering to himself. 

_____ _

“Flesh and bone. I am flesh and bone. I walk this plane. I have flesh and bone.” 

_____ _

Harry wasn’t sure if he should touch Malfoy, but he put his hands on his shoulders anyway. And Malfoy jerked up, his eyes unfocused. “I’m a man? I am flesh and bone?” His eyes focused on Harry, but he didn’t stop twitching. 

_____ _

Carefully, Harry peeled one of Malfoy’s hands from his legs. “You’re a man. See? Flesh and bone.” He held up Malfoy’s hand for him to see, ran his fingers over Malfoy’s palm. 

_____ _

“Feel that? Flesh and bone. A real man.” 

_____ _

Malfoy’s fingers twitched and wrapped themselves around Harry’s hand. “Flesh and bone,” he repeated, squeezing Harry. 

_____ _

Gently, Harry pulled Malfoy’s hand towards him as he stood. Malfoy followed suit. He looked around the room, moonlight had fallen across the sofa, and Malfoy walked over to the door, forcing Harry to follow. He put his empty hand on the glass and leaned his head against the door, as if deliberately putting himself in the moonlight. “A full moon,” he whispered, his lips brushing the glass. “It’s beautiful.” Now he was brushing his nose back and forth, and Harry realized he was slipping back into madness. He pulled Malfoy out of the light and into a darkened corner by the counter. Malfoy’s eyes focused on him. “Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as the moon, full and glorious, naked and shining down on everyone? A gift.” 

_____ _

"I think you should come to bed with me.” 

_____ _

“Can’t go into Potter’s room.” Malfoy reached his free hand back into the light. “Can’t seem to keep away from him in Potter’s room.” 

_____ _

“You can’t stay out here.” Harry pulled Malfoy’s arm out of the moonlight. 

_____ _

“Can’t go in Potter’s room.” Malfoy repeated. “Wake up needy, and wanting to be full of him.” He put his hand on Harry’s face. “Can’t be full of Harry. It’s not real. It’s provisional. Can’t stay, can’t leave. Broken, empty. Fading like twilight.” 

_____ _

“You can’t stay out here,” Harry insisted. 

_____ _

Malfoy tore both hands away from Harry and stood completely in the moonlight. “It’s glorious here.” His head rolled back. “And She doesn’t care, doesn’t care. I can disappear in her and be full.” 

_____ _

Harry wrapped his hand on Malfoy’s wrist and yanked, but Malfoy wouldn’t be budged. He was losing him, and so Harry said the only thing that came to mind. “I made a vow. I vowed to solve this case, and I can’t do that if you run off with the moon.” 

_____ _

It was enough to make Malfoy pause, blink, and his eyes focused on Harry for a moment. He brought his hand up to Harry’s face again. “Want to help you. Want to.” And then he put that hand on the glass door again. “So beautiful. Bright and white and clean.” 

_____ _

Harry summoned a knife and tried again, a clawing at his chest. “I made a vow. I swore to you, now you swear to me.” He held out the knife 

_____ _

Malfoy focused again, gave Harry his hand. “Swear?” 

_____ _

“Swear to me you won’t chase the moon until after all this. Swear you’ll help me fulfill my vow.” 

_____ _

“Swear.” Malfoy took a step towards Harry, his hand still outstretched. 

_____ _

“Say it.” 

_____ _

“I swear I will help you fulfill your vow to me.” And Harry sliced his hand, deeper than Malfoy had done and the blood poured out dripping onto the floor. And Harry pressed their hands together hard and then harder.

_____ _

And then Malfoy was back. “Who knew you had it in you, Harry?” He sounded surprised. “Blood magic.” He let go of Harry’s hand, and Harry let go too.

_____ _

Malfoy stepped back towards the window, but Harry felt his presence in the room much more so than just a moment ago. Malfoy toyed with the hair thin bracelet on his wrist, and Harry wondered where it had come from, and then he stood in front of the door again. Malfoy didn’t put his hand on the glass, but Harry sensed he wanted to. “I forgot. I always forget. I got lost in it again.” He turned to Harry. “The full moon is the hardest. You’d think it would be the new moon, the absence of it. But I’m used to the absence now. The full force? Always washes me away.”

_____ _

Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. It frightened him and he didn’t want to know. “Will you come to bed now?”

_____ _

“No.” Malfoy looked back at the sofa, and Harry could see him thinking.

_____ _

“I want you to come to bed with me,” Harry said, and Malfoy looked at him in confusion, his fingers running over the bracelet, over and over and over

_____ _

“I need to think.”

_____ _

“About what?”

_____ _

Draco let go of the bracelet and went back to the door. “Something’s changed. What?” He looked around the flat, eyes unfocused and unseeing.

_____ _

“What are you doing, Malfoy?”

_____ _

“Go to bed, Potter.”

_____ _

“Come with me.”

_____ _

All of a sudden, alfoy’s attention snapped to Harry. He looked down the length of his own body and then looked at Harry again. “I’ll--I’ll--” He licked his lips. “I’m fine now. And I need to think. I can’t do that in your room. Go to bed. I will be here in the morning. And I can promise there won’t be any blood anywhere.” He sat down in the shadows but next to the light streaming through the door, fingers tapping absently on his knee.

_____ _

Harry lingered for a moment, watching for any sign of madness to return.

_____ _

Malfoy stared at him. “I promise you can go to bed now.”

_____ _

And instead of arguing, Harry did as he was told.

_____ _


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday felt like a repeat of Saturday, disconcerting and off-putting. Except for the waking up bit. Harry woke up with his normal morning glory, but no Malfoy. And after a few moments of confusion, Harry decided he was most definitely not disappointed. It was odd though that Malfoy had not come to bed. And then Harry was upset that it felt odd to wake up alone. 

With mild annoyance, Harry walked into the living room. The balcony door was open, and Harry could see Malfoy outside dressed in clean clothes at least. The wind ruffled his hair, and he was leaning against the rail (as per usual) with his legs crossed casually. It all looked very relaxed. And Harry thought he might punch him. 

Instead, Harry turned right back around and put himself back to bed, willing the day to be better when he woke up a second time. 

Which was around 10:30, to the smell of pancakes. The bedroom door was open, and if Harry moved his head a little, he could see the plate piled up and a bit of syrup. He watched Malfoy pick up the plate and then very carefully step across the floor. He stepped with such intention that Harry thought he looked drunk as he picked his way across the floor. Malfoy set the plate down on the nightstand and then made his careful drunken way back to the kitchen for the maple syrup and a glass of orange juice. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Harry called out as Malfoy dragged a chair out onto the balcony. 

“Not hungry,” Malfoy replied, and Harry was pretty sure he was lying but then didn’t care enough. 

He perched on the chair, with his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around them. For a moment, Harry thought he looked lost, like a child in a store, but that didn’t seem right. With his white hair and pale skin, Malfoy looked more like some fey creature, unearthly and cast out from under the hill never to return again. The light turned his white hair almost gold and his skin translucent. From the shadow inside, Malfoy was a stark contrast, like a wild thing forced to see the world only through glass. Harry had to turn away and refuse to think about why he couldn’t be angry. 

The pancakes were light and fluffy, and Harry wondered how many tries it had taken to get them right. He wondered what sorts of cooking shows Malfoy had been watching. His food certainly wasn’t restaurant quality, and it lacked sophistication and complexity, but Harry lacked sophistication and complexity too. 

Some time around 11, he dragged himself from bed and over to the shower to actually start the day. When he came out of the bathroom, Malfoy was leaning over the counter drawing something on a scrap of parchment. “I need to go out today,” he said by way of explanation. “Could be out late.” 

Harry should probably say something about that, ‘no you can’t’ or ‘I’ll go with you’, but he didn’t like that uneasy feeling in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy outside of the flat. 

He wasn’t supposed to have that kind of unease over Malfoy. “I’m going to the Weasleys’. I’ll make sure the wards are set for you.” 

“No need.” Malfoy straightened. “In fact, don’t.” And then he was striding through the room looking for shoes. 

Harry made coffee and watched him from the corner of his eye until Malfoy found his own shoes, which were ratty beyond repair. But he somehow got his feet inside them, and then, without looking at Harry was out through the front door. 

Harry glanced at the clock again, and decided it wasn’t too early to show up at the Burrow. Rose and Hugo always wanted to be there first, but would be delighted if Harry opened the door. He finished his coffee and apparated away. 

It was a bit of a treck from the apparition point to the Burrow, but Harry had never minded the walk. The wind blew lightly, and it wasn’t as cold as it had been. It felt good to stretch his muscles, and the view of the Burrow always felt like home. 

He knocked on the door, and Molly quickly opened it for him. “Harry dear! You’re the first to arrive.” She hustled him inside. “I wasn’t expecting anyone for another hour or so.” She hurried over to the kitchen counter, washed her hands, and began to smear some lovely smelling spices across the roast. “Not that I mind, dear,” she added. 

Harry looked around the room and peeked into the living room. The Burrow was just as untidy as ever, covered now in knitting and bits and pieces of technology. What exactly Arthur planned to do with the inside of an iPhone, Harry had no idea, but it had been on the coffee table three of the last four visits. 

“I felt badly for missing last week,” he said, because he certainly wasn’t going to mention Malfoy. “A last minute thing came up at work.” 

Molly nodded. “That sort of thing used to happen to Arthur too.” She turned around and gave Harry a stern look. “Of course, Arthur was always able to get me a message.” 

Harry ducked his head. “Sorry, Molly. I promise I will next time.” 

“Make sure you keep your promises,” she said primly. “Are you hungry? I could make you some sandwiches. Or a drink? I’ve got tea, pumpkin juice, milk, water, and I think Arthur bought some wine.” 

“Tea sounds lovely,” Harry said. “I can make it.” 

Molly paused almost imperceptibly. “That would be lovely of you, dear.” She washed her hands and man-handled the enormous roast in the oven while Harry boiled some water and got out the tea pot. 

And then they were sitting at the table, waiting for the tea to steep, and talking about nothing. Molly mentioned the most recent Harpies match, and they talked about their chances at the World Cup, and then they talked about Ginny. “A nose ring! I just don’t understand her any more.” Molly shook her head, and Harry made sympathetic noises. 

Luckily, the kitchen door burst open at that moment to a crying Rose who immediately ran over to Molly and began to sob into her lap, distracting both of them. The only words Harry was able to make out were “Hugo” and “finger.” And he made to ask a question, at which point Rose realized he was there, immediately stopped crying and threw herself completely at him. If he’d been any slower to catch her, she'd have certainly hit her head on the table. 

Hermione pushed Hugo through the door and was saying something back at Ron. “That’s not acceptable. There are no good reasons to bite anyone.” And then she turned to Hugo. “You cannot bite your sister, not even if she bites you first.” 

“She stole the last of his Bertie Botts. Sometimes a man has to defend what’s his, ‘Mione.” Ron came in and took out his coat. “Right, Harry?” 

“Oh, I don’t think--” and then Harry was cut off by Hugo screaming and launching himself at Harry and landing on Rose. 

At which point Hermione shouted. “That’s enough! Now, there are more than enough beds here for me to put both of you down for a nap if you can’t behave yourselves! Get off of Uncle Harry and go play, QUIETLY, in the living room. Have I made myself clear?” 

Mournfully, Hugo and Rose let go of Harry. “Come on, Hugo,” Rose said kindly to her brother. “Mum’s a bit tetchy.” 

Hermione started to open her mouth, and Ron put a hand on her arm. “Are you okay, ‘Mione?” 

She sagged a little against him. “I’ve spent all week at work listening to people bicker and complain. Is it too much to ask for a pleasant afternoon on my one day off this week?” She sighed, “Maybe I should take a nap.” 

“I’ve got plenty of beds,” Molly pointed out. “Arthur and Harry will take the little ones outside if they get to be too rambunctious,” she promised and Harry quickly agreed. Hermione did look tired. 

“What’s going on at work?” Harry asked, because he was concerned and not at all because he was thinking about other events with Unspeakables. 

Hermione slumped into a chair. “You know I can’t talk about work.” She shook her head. “It’s not even my division, so I don’t understand how it could possibly be affecting me, but it is.” 

“It’s about the theft, isn’t it?” Harry offered 

Hermione looked at him dead on. “How do you know about that?” 

“That's why I wasn’t here last week. Unspeakable Atkinson tapped me to investigate.” Harry shrugged. Wouldn’t it be strange if Hermione was his only other lead. 

“Well I hope you find whatever it is quick.” Hermione sipped her tea. “Whatever they’re doing over there is interfering with our experiments and causing all kinds of tension.” 

Harry thought of Malfoy, doing who knows what and for the first time wondered if he ought to hand him over, if it was causing these kinds of problems for Hermione. “Do you know what was stolen?” he asked. 

Hermione gave him a sidelong look. “Wish I did. It must be important, because Atkinson has been on a warpath all week. Filching things from different departments, demanding…” 

She trailed off. “I really can’t talk about this.” And Harry wondered if she was running up against the tea. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll figure it out eventually. Be nice if Atkinson told me what was stolen or let me see the crime scene is all.” He looked at Hermione as he spoke, and she looked at him for an odd moment. 

“There’s a lot of rules,” she said, as if explaining. “I’m sure Atkinson has explained everything he can to you.” 

It felt like talking to Malfoy, like they were talking around a subject, and Harry decided to keep going, all his Auror instincts on edge. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me anything, and when I ask too many questions he’s always going on about tea. As if, in the middle of an investigation what I really want is a nice cuppa instead of leads.” 

Hermione picked up her tea cup with both hands, and Harry noticed how very still she was sitting. “Maybe you should drink the tea.” And chills went down Harry’s spine. 

“He’s just so pushy about it.” Harry leaned back, forcing himself into a casually irritated posture. “And he’s an absolute prick. It’s petty, but as much as he wants me to drink the tea, it makes me want to throw it in his face.” 

Hermione smiled. “I don’t like him much either. But, I don’t know, I drink the tea at work. It’s not so bad.” 

“Maybe I will then.” Harry smiled back at her. 

And then Malfoy was back in his ear. _Don’t you dare, Potter. Different division, different rules, different tea. You made a vow to me._ His voice was low and angry, and Harry felt, just a little bit, vindicated.

“Harry!” Ginny cried from the doorway. “Did you bring Trevor?”

Harry groaned. 

“Who’s Trevor?” Ron asked, worry wrinkling his forehead.

“You owe me four sickles!” Ginny waggled her eyebrows. “Trevor is Harry’s boyfriend!” 

And there was a rounding chorus of “What?!” and expletives. Mostly from Ginny.

You’re dating?” Ron demanded over the din. 

“I mean--” Harry started and then glared at Ginny. “Thanks, Gin.”

“Better to let these things out, then hold them in,” she crooned. “Ron, you still owe me four sickles.” And then she was sitting at the table. “Why didn’t you bring him?”

“He had things to do today,” Harry muttered darkly and wishing for revenge. Although on whom he wasn’t quite decided. 

“I want to hear all about him,” Hermione said, and Ron nodded, and Molly made more tea. 

“Now wait just a minute.” Molly said before Harry could answer. She put the kettle to boil a fresh pot and went to the living room door and shouted, “Arthur, get in here, Harry’s going to tell us about his boyfriend.” She shut the door and went to dig through her collection of tea leaves. “He’ll be along in a minute. No sense telling the same stories twice.” 

There was a clamour of questions, and Harry buried his head in his hands until Arthur arrived. “What’s this about a boyfriend? Ginny, are you dating someone?” 

“No,” Ginny grinned wildly. “But Harry is!” 

“I think I am going to revoke your visiting status,” Harry said. “If you’re going to share my personal business with everyone.” 

“Nonsense.” Ginny dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “So, I go over to Harry’s on Friday, and I sit down on the sofa.” She had everyone’s attention now. “And I notice he’s got TWO plates sitting out, which I thought was totally weird. So I asked about it, and Harry did that totally cute thing he does when he’s embarrassed, and out of the bedroom comes this totally gorgeous man wearing Harry’s clothes!” 

There was another chorus of What! and expletives. Again, mostly from Ginny. And it made Molly say, “Ginevra Molly Weasley!” 

“Yep. Totally dating a fit bloke!” Ginny crossed her arms and nodded

“How did you meet?” Hermione asked while Arthur announced he didn’t need the details and went back out to the living room. 

“Er,” Harrys started, and Malfoy was whispering chinese place in his ear as a reminder. “Getting take-away.” Harry shrugged. “It’s not a very exciting story.” 

“Is too!” Ginny insisted. 

Did you come on to him or the other way round?” Hermione asked, absurdly interested in Harry’s made-up love life. 

“Er,” and then, _You’re shit at this, Potter. I knocked into you, spilling duck sauce all over the place, ruined your shirt._ “Uh, he, uh, spilled some sauce on me, ruined my shirt.” _Insisted on buying you a pint to make up for it. And then after a few, I confessed I’d deliberately spilled as an excuse to ask you out._ “Turns out, he did it deliberately, as an excuse to ask me out.”

“Did he really ruin the shirt?” Molly asked.

“Yep.”

“How long have you been dating?” Ron asked. 

“Two months,” Ginny answered for him, and Harry was grateful because he couldn’t remember all the things Malfoy had said when she’d been at the flat.

“Two months!” Everyone cried, and Harry rubbed his ear. “How come you didn’t tell us!” 

It didn’t seem like a big deal!” Harry leaned back from the Weasley stares.

“Oh sure, Mr. Hermit starts dating a guy and doesn’t think it’s a big deal.” Ginny crossed her arms and scowled in a perfect imitation of Molly. 

Luckily, Arthur was back in the doorway. “I think Rose and Hugo would like to play outside now, if I could borrow Harry.” He arched an eyebrow at Molly. 

“Absolutely,” Molly shooed Harry out. “Go on now, don’t leave them waiting.” She practically shoved him through the door. “Now, you lot leave him alone about this boy. It’s his business, and he’ll tell us about it when he’s ready to and not a minute sooner.” Harry could hear her giving them a dressing down through the door. He didn’t think he had felt this grateful towards Molly in a long time. 

*

When Harry made it back to the flat that evening, all the lights were out and the sun had already set. He groped along the wall for the light switch and then glanced about the room. It looked exactly as he left it, which meant Malfoy must still be out. For a single moment, Harry wondered just what he was up to that he was out so late. But then he dismissed the thought and sent a cleaning spell into the kitchen for the breakfast dishes.

It wasn’t terribly late, just after seven, so he turned on the TV and sat down on the sofa with his files. After all week of Malfoy being everywhere in the apartment and all day being surrounded by loving Weasleys, it was nice to be alone at home.

Two beers later, Harry got up for the bathroom. The door wouldn’t open. Harry turned the knob, and shoved experimentally against the door. There was a vague groan, but the door didn’t budge much, and Harry realized with a growing alarm that Malfoy must have been home all this time, passed out in the bathroom. He banged on the door, “Malfoy!” 

There was more groaning and the sound of flesh smacking against the tile. Harry tested the door, and it opened almost enough for him to see inside. The light was off, and Harry desperately pushed farther in. When he finally got the door open enough to squeeze through the opening, he could see Malfoy lying sprawled all across the floor. A good thing he hadn’t tried to apparate inside, he certainly would have landed on top of Malfoy. 

Who was breathing, but his shirt and pants were stiff with dried blood. “What happened?” Harry asked, knowing there wouldn’t be an answer. 

But Malfoy rolled his head and groaned, “Puppies and rainbows.” 

For a moment, Harry observed him, trying to figure out if there was a way to pull him out from behind the door without causing more damage. In the end, he sat down on the floor, and hauled Malfoy forward with his hands under Malfoy’s arms until Malfoy’s head was resting in Harry’s lap. “I’m going to look at your arms.” Harry took out his wand and carefully cut the sleeves of his shirt off. There were so many cuts on his arms, that Harry wasn’t sure if there was any skin left. “My god. What did you do?” 

Malfoy only groaned in response, nuzzling his head into Harry’s lap. “You need a healer,” he whispered. 

“No healer,” Malfoy replied. “Better tomorrow, promise.” 

“I definitely don’t believe you.” Harry summoned a Pepper-Up from the kitchen. He probably needed a blood replenishing potion too, but Harry didn’t have any of those. “Here, drink.” He held the bottle to Malfoy’s mouth, who drank down the potion without complaint. “I’d ask how your day was, but I think the answer is not good.” 

“Muddy,” Malfoy replied. “Got everything all muddy.” 

Which Harry took to mean bloody. “I can see you bled all over the place, what I don’t know is why.” 

“See tomorrow.” Malfoy replied, eyes drifting shut again. “See tomorrow.” 

“And just what am I supposed to do with you until then?” 

“Take me to bed?” Malfoy suggested optimistically. 

“I am not taking you to bed.” Harry scowled. “For one thing, I am still not convinced I shouldn’t take you to St Mungo’s. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” 

“Had to.” Malfoy began nuzzling his way towards Harry’s crotch. 

“Stop that.” Harry lightly pushed Malfoy’s head away. “You need bandages and sleep at the very least.” 

“No.” Malfoy shook his head. “All empty now. Need to be filled up. Better if you fill me up.” 

“Yeah, because you’re super sexy right now.” Harry scowled again. 

“Want to be full again.” Malfoy whispered to Harry’s cock. “Gonna get filled either way. Want it to be you.” 

“You are injured. At least let me bandage up your arms.” 

Malfoy rolled off his lap. “Sometimes I hate you. Sometimes I don’t.” He curled up onto his knees, in the fetal position. “Please take me to bed.” 

“I am not going to take advantage of you.” 

“I know.” Malfoy rolled onto his side, as if the pressure on his legs was too much to bear. Harry wondered if he had other injuries. “Too good to take advantage--” He cut himself off suddenly. 

But Harry could see the outline Dark Mark on his arm, just blurry lines now, but still distinct. “Don’t say that, like all you’ll ever be is a former Death Eater. You can be more than that.” 

Malfoy cracked open both of his eyes and began to laugh, a helpless case of the giggles that echoed through the miniscule room. When he finally calmed down enough to speak, he put his hand on Harry’s face, and Harry was face to face with the Dark Mark. “No.” Malfoy smiled, his thumb caressing Harry’s cheek bone. “You’re too good to take advantage of anyone, even a former DeathEater.” 

“Don’t call yourself that.” 

“I don’t.” Malfoy dropped his hand. “If you won’t take me to bed, take me outside. I want to see the moon.” 

“Tell me, why don’t I just take you to a healer.” Harry replied. 

“It’s softer, lighter somehow.” Malfoy held both his hands out over his face as if he could actually see the moon. “Doesn’t squeeze all of me out. Gentle and cool. Still full but soft.” His hands fell to his sides. He rolled onto his side. “Promise, fine tomorrow. Full, but fine.” He brought his hand back up to Harry’s face. “No worry.” 

“I don’t know why I listen to you.” Harry gathered Malfoy against his chest. 

“Don’t either.” Malfoy nuzzled his face in close, breathing deeply. “Smell good.” 

Harry summoned the sofa closer to the door and then laid Malfoy down in the moonlight. It turned his hair silver and he looked relaxed. Harry smoothed Malfoy’s hair back off his forehead, and Malfoy turned his face to press a kiss into Harry’s hand. “Good man. Wish--wish--” He was drifting off, and Harry never did hear the end of the sentence. Or maybe Malfoy was just making sounds. It seemed impossible to know. 

He gathered some blankets and a pillow and tucked Malfoy into the sofa. It was stupid, the way Malfoy reached out and held on to Harry’s wrist, but something pulled at Harry’s chest again and he found himself leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to Malfoy’s forehead. “Feel better.” 

“Promise,” Malfoy muttered and curled into the sofa.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke up, Monday morning, to the smell of cheesy eggs. And whistling. Malfoy was whistling in the kitchen. That must mean he hadn’t died of blood loss in the middle of the night, that or ghosts could crack eggs and hold a skillet. Harry pulled back the blankets and went to see. 

Malfoy was standing in the kitchen in surprisingly clean pants and no shirt. He didn’t even have scars on his arms, and Harry stumbled in a mad dash to his side. He yanked Malfoy’s arm and peered intently at the smooth expanse of pale, unblemished skin. “What the fuck!” 

Malfoy stood there, letting Harry run his hands over Malfoy’s arm. His voice was soft, calm when he did speak. “I told you it would be better this morning.” 

“How is it possible? I didn’t think you had skin left and now there isn’t even a scar.” Harry inspected Malfoy’s other arm. “What did you do?” 

Malfoy pulled back and stirred the eggs. “I made breakfast, toast and eggs, and there’s coffee too,” he spoke as if that were the answer to Harry’s question. 

Harry ran both his hands through his hair and across his face. “I need answers, Malfoy. I thought you were going to die.” 

Malfoy didn’t look at Harry, but Harry saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. “Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies,” he repeated, pushing the eggs onto a plate.” 

“I’m not asking a question.” Harry tried again. “But that was some messed up shit, and you can’t expect me to-to deal with you dying on my bathroom floor every other night.” 

“What do you think I did yesterday?” Malfoy asked, voice painfully small. 

“I think you went out and bled all over half of London.” Harry said incredulously. 

“And why do you think I would do that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Guess.” Malfoy growled. 

“It’s a blood magic thing.” 

And Malfoy smiled at that, cracking more eggs into the skillet and sprinkling in more shredded cheese. “Yes, bleeding over all of London, not half, would most definitely be a blood magic thing.” 

“And you being all better this morning, that must be blood magic too.” Harry forced his voice to stay steady. 

Malfoy stirred his eggs. “No. That’s not a blood magic thing. For all that blood magic has amazing healing properties, even it has its limits.” 

“So what then?” Harry started to eat. “It’s a benefit of blood magic? You bleed all over the place until your half-dead and in the morning there’s no consequence.” 

Malfoy turned around and got out another plate. “No.” 

“Is this a question thing or a tea thing?” Harry asked, shoving more eggs in his mouth. 

Malfoy’s whole face went tight, his knuckles turned white around the skillet handle. And eventually he said, slowly, carefully, “I enjoy going out, bleeding across the entire city, coming back half-dead and passing out in your bathroom. I enjoy the-the drained and empty feeling all that bleeding leaves behind. I wish I could do that every day.” 

Harry looked angrily down at his now empty plate. “I do so love the way you lie.” 

“Then don’t ask me questions you know I can’t answer.” Malfoy slammed down the spatula splattering eggs all over the stove and stalked into the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” he announced and slammed the door, leaving Harry to deal with the mess left behind. 

Malfoy didn’t come out of the bathroom until after Harry left, and he never did hear the shower turn on. Harry consoled himself with the thought that at least both of them were frustrated and angry. It wasn’t much, but it did make him feel a little better as he got dressed and went into the office. 

Of course, that small comfort completely evaporated when he saw Atkinson lurking over his desk. Harry shoved his shoulder into Atkinson as he squeezed into his chair. “Go away,” he muttered darkly. “God, don’t you have better places to be?” 

“I have invested quite a bit into this asset, and I have no intention of letting Draco get away with what he has done.” 

“That’s quite an angry tone,” Harry replied. He sat down at his desk, and pulled the first case off the pile in the corner. He did it mostly because he knew it would irritate Atkinson, and an angry Atkinson might let something slip. 

“We have interviews to conduct,” he pointed out. 

“Your case isn’t the only one I’m working right now.” Harry turned the page, and put the file down so he could pretend to study the picture. “And this one has actual leads with actual evidence.” It didn’t, but whatever. 

Atkinson put his hand down on the picture, and Harry looked up with what he hoped was mild interest. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. We have interviews to conduct.” Harry closed the file, smiled insincerely, and stood up. “Fine. I’ll just let this murder remain on the loose long enough to find his next victim. I’m sure the family will understand that your need for a magical artifact was greater then their loved one’s life..” 

“Your insolence is not appreciated. This artifact has the power to save the wizarding world from every dark wizard who tries to amass power, and you of all people should be able to appreciate that. This matter is of the utmost importance and will protect the lives of people. The future of the wizarding world may very well hang in the balance!” 

Harry pushed himself into Atkinson’s space. “For you.” Because obviously Voldemort wasn’t on the rise again. “But, certainly not to the family of Marie Culpepper, to whom I have also given assurances. And it is certainly not of the utmost importance to me, as you refuse to provide me with any actual leads. Now, I am willing to go with you today to finish interviewing Malfoy’s friends, and I will do the best I can to complete this investigation, but I will not do so at the expense of any other case I have been assigned.” Harry turned around, and gathered a few files off his desk as well as things for taking notes. “Now, shall we go?” 

He waited for Atkinson to form a reply, but when one didn’t appear quickly, Harry turned and marched off towards the floo. They arrived at Sugar and Oats only a few minutes late for their coffee interview with Bulstrode and Goyle. 

Atkinson reached out and grabbed Harry on the arm. “What is this?” he demanded. 

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, I made an appointment with Millicient Bulstrode and Gregory Goyle for this morning. They’re meeting us here. All that, this morning, that was me fucking with you.” Just about the time he thought Atkinson’s head might spin around backwards, he added, “I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been fucking with me.” And went inside. Millie and Goyle had a table, and breakfast. Harry ordered a coffee and, because he was thinking about Malfoy, a chocolate chip scone. Atkinson lurked over the table until Harry rolled his eyes and said, “Sit down, the chairs won’t bite.” 

Goyle snickered into his tea. 

“I expect you’ve heard from Pansy,” Harry started. 

Millicent and Goyle exchanged sad looks, and Millicent put down her muffin. “We have. She owled us right away, and I’m sorry, but we haven’t heard from him.”

“I suspected that might be the case.” Harry took a long sip of coffee. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me about Malfoy when he was still in school.” 

“Well, you know what he was like.” Goyle waved his hand dismissively. 

“An arrogant son of a bitch?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows. “Determined to undermine my every effort, a cheater with very little respect for the rules, a pisspoor Death Eater?” 

And then, very quietly in his ear, _That’s just unflattering._

But Millicent and Goyle were nodding. “Pretty much.” 

“That’s not a very flattering description of your friend.” Harry felt a little badly they hadn’t mounted a defense. 

Millicent sighed. “Malfoy was always very ambitious. He wanted to get top marks, and would be just furious every time Granger scored higher than him. He wanted to be the best Seeker in the school, and couldn’t handle - you know - you. He wanted to be popular, he wanted to make his parents proud. And all of that led to him being an arrogant son of a bitch who’s plans always seemed to fall apart.” 

“He was quite funny,” Goyle added, staunchly loyal. 

_I did wonderful impressions._ Malfoy reminisced in his ear. 

“What was his family life like?” Harry asked, following a loose guideline he’d memorized a long time ago. 

“Normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. His mother doted on him like mothers do, and his father was the distant father figure young boys all aspire to please,” Goyle said. “He was very proud to have taken the Dark Mark and been given a special mission, but I think it also gave him quite a bit of stress and fear that he would fail and they would die as a result. He-he wouldn’t have wanted his parents to suffer. He loved them.” 

Lucius had died in Azkaban not long after being incarcerated, and if Harry remembered accurately Narcissa had suffered a mental break and stopped eating while in the Janus Thicky ward. He wrote those things down. “What about classes? Favorite class, least favorite, what were his hobbies?” 

“Potions and advanced charms. He hated divination with a passion. He was very interested in Quidditch but didn’t really follow any specific team. He read a lot, actually quite bookish when he put his mind to it.” 

“What about a love life?” 

“For most of school it was Pansy, on again off again sort of thing. But he and Zabini had some sort of thing sixth year. We thought it was mostly stress relief, but he never much talked about it.” 

“So, he was interested in girls and boys?” Harry asked. He hadn’t thought of Malfoy as being the type. But then, he remembered Malfoy and Pansy as well as Millicent and Goyle did. 

An interest in both genders would explain Malfoy’s apparent interest in Harry every morning, but that didn’t really explain anything else about Malfoy and his existence at Harry’s flat. 

Goyle shrugged a sort of disinterested affirmative 

“What’s the clearest memory you have of Malfoy?” Harry continued on. Both Millicent and Goyle shared memories from fourth year, and then they told Harry all about the Slytherin yearbook and Malfoy being voted Most Likely To Drunkenly Kiss Potter. Which Harry found funny in spite of himself. Goyle teared up talking about sixth year, and glared darkly at Harry at the brief mention of “that horrible bathroom incident.” But it ended on a light story of Malfoy learning to fly as a boy and getting his first broom. By the time the interview was over two hours later, Harry had laughed a lot and felt a bit like he understood school Malfoy in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe he would have, if he’d been a bit less concerned about death and the destruction of everything. 

Maybe not. Malfoy had still been awful. 

There wasn’t any recent information, and it hadn’t given Harry any leads on current Malfoy. But it did answer the question as to why Malfoy hadn’t reached out to any of them. The entire two hours, Atkinson hadn’t moved, hadn’t asked a question, but his grip on the table had grown increasingly tighter with irritation. He didn’t touch the tea he’d ordered, and Harry could see his jaw systematically clenching and unclenching. Malfoy hadn’t wanted his friends to face Atkinson. 

As they were gathering their coats and paying the bill, Millicent grabbed Harry’s arm and handed him a wedding invitation. “If you see him, could you give him this? It’s in January, and we realize it’s a long shot, but could you give it to him anyway?” 

Harry nodded, tucked the little envelope into his pocket, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat without much success. 

Back at the office, Atkinson followed Harry into the Bullpen. 

“That was an utter waste of my time!” he raged, throwing the files on Harry’s desk across the room. Harry watched with a sort of disassociation that usually only came during a duel in the field. “Where has he gone?!” he screamed. The other Aurors looked up and then quickly back at their desks. 

Harry held his wand loosely, ready to defend himself should the need arise, but he chose not to agitate Atkinson further. 

“What was the point of all that? Tell me!” he screamed at Harry. 

“To gain a better understanding of Malfoy. To learn what he values, to better understand any motives we might find, to track him when we get a lead,” he explained firmly. “He values his friends, but didn’t go to them. Why? Is he protecting them from this investigation or has he decided to become a theif? I’m assuming that whatever he stole can’t be fenced, so he must have some purpose for it. If i can understand his motives then I can predict his plan and catch him. I need to learn every bit I can about him.” 

“Fine,” Atkinson growled. “I expect a report by the end of the week, and if you do any more interviews I will accompany you.” 

Harry gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and silently vowed to himself that he would solve this. No one would stand in his way of finding the truth. For all that neither Atkinson nor Malfoy would answer questions, at the end, there would be no lies. 

* 

Harry could smell him, and his hair was in his face again. He was warm and fit inside Harry’s arms just perfectly. He moaned a little, and Harry realized his cock was in his hand, and Harry’s cock was pistoning happily against him. The friction from his boxers was compounded by Malfoy’s warmth, and Harry was so close to an orgasm. It had been so long, and he was so warm and making those soft mewling noises, and thrusting up into his fist and back against him. So close, and closer and then Harry was coming and so was Malfoy. 

And he was fully awake and spent and realized that Malfoy was still in his arms, and they were both panting, and Harry was sticky. 

Malfoy rolled off the bed again. He smacked into the nightstand again, Harry noted absently. Harry rolled on to his back, sticky hand outstretched. “This has got to stop.” 

“You need to get laid,” Malfoy said testily from the floor. 

“And how, exactly, do you suggest I do that?” Harry spat back. “Not like I can exactly bring someone back here.” 

“You must have a boyfriend, or girlfriend, to lend you a helping hand.” Malfoy sat up and rubbed his head. 

“This is getting ridiculous.” Harry didn’t bother to correct Malfoy. “Stop taking advantage of me during the wee hours.” 

“It was your hand wrapped around my cock, that makes you the one ‘taking advantage’ this morning. And, if you weren’t dreaming about sex every night, this wouldn’t be happening, so I repeat, go see your boyfriend.” 

“And leave you here alone?” Because Harry wasn’t about to admit he didn’t have a boyfriend. 

“Yes. You’ve gone to work everyday. And the Weasley’s” 

“And let you disappear into the moonlight? I don’t think so.” 

“I already told you, I am not going to do that.” 

“That’s not a risk I’m willing to take,” Harry argued. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s a simple choice, either, you go out and get you some, or you get your rocks off every morning rubbing up against me.” He paused. “Or, I sleep on the sofa. That’s worked out well so far.” 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Harry admitted finally, seeing very little way out of this awful and depressing conversation. Had it really been two years? Harry tried to remember those few months with Liam. It really had been that long. 

“Then go find a stranger.” Malfoy suggested. “I’m taking a shower.” 

Which left Harry lying in the bed with come on his hand. “I’m not doing that.” And then, because Harry really didn’t want to think about sex with anyone any more, he got up to wash his hands. 

* 

Harry wasn’t exactly in a good mood when he arrived at work an hour later. Malfoy had used up all the hot water and then proceeded to sit, cross-legged, on the balcony floor bickering with himself, which Harry only knew because he spent several minutes trying to break into the argument to find out if Malfoy wanted some eggs which resulted in a loud shout of “Fucking Questions!” At which point Harry slammed the door shut and tried to drown himself in coffee. 

The office was not better. Maisie was humming at her desk. She smiled at Harry as he stormed through the door, which resulted in her wavering just a bit, and Harry suddenly remembered his performance review. “Sorry. Bad morning.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked hesitantly 

Harry paused and then continued slowly towards his desk. “Not really.” 

“Oh,” she looked a little dejected and watched him sit down at the desk. Come on, Potter. Give the poor girl a break. Tell her I’m an arse because I am and you want to.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Maisie said cautiously. Which might have meant she didn’t know he was gay, but Harry didn’t care.

“It’s a recent development. I’m not sure I am going to keep him around much longer if he keeps behaving like this morning,” Harry said, once again, for Malfoy’s benefit. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maisie asked. 

“No,” Harry growled, and that was the end of all conversation in the room for several hours. 

After lunch, Oliver Benson wandered into the room trying to look casual which just made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up straight. He and Oliver had what Harry chose to call “an unfortunate encounter” over the summer, and Oliver hadn’t been able to let it go in the four months since then. 

He meandered across the room to Harry’s desk, and leaned in what Harry could only assume was supposed to be a seductive pose against his desk. “What. Do. You. Want.” Harry scowled, even less in the mood to talk than when he had arrived. 

“I heard you have a boyfriend.” 

“And?” 

“And I don’t believe it.” 

“Well, that’s your problem.” 

“If you have a boyfriend, why hasn’t he been around to any of the department functions.” 

“I haven’t been around to any of the department functions.” 

_Is this a spurned lover?_ Malfoy asked, suddenly deeply interested in Harry’s day. 

“Still.” Benson moved until it looked like he was laying on Harry’s desk. 

“What is wrong with you?” 

_It is. It is a spurned lover._

“I just thought I’d see what it was you found so deeply attractive about this new guy.” 

Harry found himself in an impossible situation. He could either compliment Malfoy and thus dash any hopes Oliver had of a repeat encounter. And Oliver most definitely had hopes. Or he could insult Malfoy and then suffer the humiliation that was Oliver thinking he had a chance. “Let it go.” Harry went for option #3. 

“If only I could.” Benson leered. “That night was something I think about often,” he whispered loudly enough for the whole room to hear, as if the whole department didn’t already know. 

“Really?” Harry pulled some parchment out from under Oliver. “I have been working very hard to forget it.” 

“I am difficult to forget.” Oliver refused to take the insult. 

Slowly Harry turned to look Oliver in the eye. “If you don’t get off my desk, right now, I don’t think I can be held liable for my actions.” 

Oliver licked his lips. “Oh my.” He leered again. 

And really, Harry didn’t think he could be held responsible. He punched Oliver. It was difficult to explain to Robards later, after Oliver had gone and complained, but completely worth it. Maisie even gave him a smile when he came back into the room, although that did very little to soothe his insulted sensibilities. Robards hadn’t listened to a single defense Harry had mounted and instead wrote him up for striking a co-worker outside of approved scenarios. When Harry had asked to be partnered with Oliver for the next dueling practice, Robards had threatened to desk him for two weeks. 

Even Ron hadn’t been able to calm Harry down when he drifted into the room around 4 and asked if Harry wanted tea or something. Harry had shouted loudly to everyone that he wasn’t someone who needed to be managed and that if they (being his coworkers) felt he was too much of a hassle to work with then he would just work from home. And Maisie promptly burst into tears. 

All in all, it hadn’t been a stellar day at the office. 

The flat wasn’t any better. 

Malfoy had started cooking something, but he was dressed in just the joggers, barely hanging onto his hips. And he was swaying to some ridiculous song on the radio while he stirred whatever was in the pot. 

Damn, but he looked good, shimming back and forth, lean and muscled and not quite as slight as the first day he had arrived. Still too skinny, but he had gained a little weight, and Harry approved. Harry was also full of pent up tension screaming for an outlet. And there was Malfoy, and more importantly Malfoy’s arse moving through the room in that way that drew Harry’s eye. And he was looking over his shoulder at Harry with a smirk and a gleam and Harry stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door as loudly as he could. 

Fifteen minutes later, Malfoy called him for supper. He had switched from the radio to the TV, and flopped down on the sofa with a bowl of whatever it was he had cooked up. It smelled good, but Harry was struck by the way Malfoy had one leg crocked up over the back of the sofa and the other resting on the floor. 

“I’m going out!” Harry announced both loudly and suddenly. 

Malfoy didn’t move from his lewd sprawl, although he did flick his eyes over to Harry’s crotch. “Good. That prick is going to fall off if you don’t use it.” 

“There is something wrong with you,” Harry growled and disappeared back into the bedroom. If he really was going to do this, then he was absolutely going to do it right. 

“Don’t wear that striped shirt, it doesn’t go with your skin tone.” Malfoy drawled just as Harry reached for the striped shirt. “Wear that green jumper. Brings out your eyes, and those pants with the hole in the knee. 

“I cannot believe I am taking advice from Malfoy on what to wear.” Harry scowled, but found the denims and jumper anyway. They were both comfortable and looked good on him. He came out of the bedroom. 

Malfoy got up from the sofa and walked over. “Almost,” he whispered before sinking his hands into Harry’s hair. His fingers were long and deft, and it had been a long time since someone had touched Harry so lovingly. And his face was so close that Harry could see his eyes were just the blue side of grey and his breath was warm on his face. Harry’s lips tingled with the thought that Malfoy was right there, close enough the kiss, and they hadn’t done that before. “There.” Malfoy stepped back. 

“What did you do?” 

“I gave it the ‘just fucked’ look.” He grinned brightly and went back to the sofa. “Do be careful!” He cheerily waved. 

Harry rolled his eyes and left via the stairs. There was a bar near the supermarket that he’d gone to before for this sort of thing, but it had been a while since Harry had been there. He actually didn’t much care for anonymous sex, but friends with benefits had its own problems and Harry didn’t exactly have any of those. And obviously the whole dating thing hadn’t worked out well. 

As soon as he couldn’t see Malfoy, he had doubts about this plan. Last time he had done this, the relief had been short lived and quickly replaced by loneliness. 

_If you stand around in the hall any longer, I am going to come out there. I am going to stick my hands--_

“Alright! I’m going!” Harry scowled. “You better not be in my ear all night.” 

_Oh, because I am desperate to hear all the spank and tickle._ Harry noted the sarcasm and felt a little better. He really did not want a running dialog on his technique. But the crisp air wiped away those thoughts, and Harry felt his mood improve with the walk. 

The bar, the Crossed Arrow, was crowded by the time Harry arrived. There were people in the corner dancing by the live band, but most had come for the drinks and the conversation. Harry walked up to the bar and ordered an IPA. He hated them, but there was a certain type of beer drinker who liked them, and after all, Harry wasn’t really here for the drink. 

He worked the room for at least fifteen minutes, before settling in at a stool at the end of the bar. Finishing off the beer, and without a single prospect, Harry’s high hopes of an easy evening crashed down. 

_Order a rum and coke, a double. It’s manly, doesn’t taste like shit, and will make you seem more accessible then that pretentious beer._

“You’re pretentious.” Harry replied. 

_That’s how I know._

Harry ordered his drink and turned back to the room. _See anything you like?_ There was a tall blond in the corner, a guy with nice broad shoulders, and Harry’s personal favorite, redhead with freckles. _Come on Potter. You got to give me something to work with._

“Yeah, there’s a few, alright.” Harry sipped the rum and coke. 

_Good. Sit out, facing the room, feet together knees apart._

“I look ridiculous.” Harry muttered, following directions. 

_You’re advertising._

Harry leaned back a little on the bar and looked over the room again. The bloke with the broad shoulders caught his eye, excused himself, and walked over. “Hey.” He stood close enough to Harry to display his own interest, but not so close as to be in Harry’s personal space. “You live around here?” 

They chatted for a few minutes, but Harry wasn’t feeling the chemistry and apparently neither was he, because after a few minutes conversing about the neighborhood, he moved back to his friends. 

_You are terrible at this. Maybe you should go to a wizard’s bar. You could just show up and say, ‘who wants to take me home?’ and there’d be a line of volunteers. Everybody wants to blow the Chosen One. It’d make their year, all other one night stands will pale in comparison._

Harry ordered a single this time. “Because you are so great at picking up guys.” 

_Do you wash your jeans in Windex? Because I can see myself in them._

“Do you even know what that means?” 

_Vaguely. Grace taught it to me._

“Of course she did. I don’t know that you should be friends with my neighbor. She’s teaching you terrible things. Hello.” Harry took another sip as somebody else came up. He asked what Harry was drinking, and they talked about rum for half a minute when it became clear that Harry didn’t know anything about liquor. 

_You should say, I know milk does a body good, but DAMN, how much have you been drinking?_

Harry almost spat out his drink, the guy had moved away already. “What is wrong with you?” 

_I’m bored. Grace isn’t home to keep me entertained, and the telly has some weird late night thing on that isn’t funny at all._

“Well find something to do!” Harry practically hissed. 

_Come home and I will. Malfoy practically purred in his ear._

“Not helping.” Harry took another drink and looked through the room. “Maybe I should approach someone?” 

_Can’t be any worse than whatever you’ve been doing so far._

Harry picked up his third drink, determined to make it last a little longer, and began to walk through the room. He spotted the redhead, and managed to make eye contact. “Hello.” Harry said. 

“Hi, do you come here often?” The red head said, and Harry ignored Malfoy’s snort. 

“Not really, but I needed to get out of the flat. Annoying roommate.” 

“Ah, I’ve got two of those. This is a good place to find somebody new to spend some time with.” He gave Harry a long look. 

And Harry wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol or Malfoy in his ear, but he actually said, “You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?” 

And the guy laughed. “That’s not the worst one I’ve heard tonight!” He moved closer to Harry, brought his arm over his shoulder to point across the bar and whisper in Harry’s ear, “That guy over there, pink shirt, asked me if I wanted to play army? Then said he’d lie down and I could blow the hell out of him.” 

Harry snorted and that time he was sure it was because of the alcohol. But it seemed to be working because fifteen minutes later they were still chatting, although Harry wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to go back to Mark’s flat or not, it was still nice. 

“Need a slash, don’t go anywhere,” Mark said, and Harry sucked on an ice cube while he went off for the men’s. 

One of his friends came over and Harry smiled brilliantly at her. She gave him a more timid one. “I’m really sorry, you seem like a nice bloke, but Mark made me promise not to let him bring anyone home again this evening. He’s trying to sleep around less.” She did look very apologetic and honest. 

“S’okay.” Harry slurred only a little. “Maybe another night?” And he drifted off towards the band. 

_What is wrong with you? You are the only person on the planet who could fail to pick up a slut. Go after him!_

“You heard what she said.” Harry mumbled. 

_Yeah, and?_

“Friends are important.” 

_Not when it’s a one night stand, you wanker! Or is it that you just want to come home to me, all frustrated and sexual? You like waking up next to me stiffer then a board with me thrusting against you, and my hand around your cock--_

“Alright! I’ll find somebody else!” Harry adjusted his pants. 

He ordered a water from the bar, played a game of darts by himself, chatted briefly with a few people. And then the blond came over with two rum and Cokes in his hand. 

“I’m Dan.” He handed over the drink. 

“Harry. Thanks.” 

They both sipped in silence for a moment, and then Dan asked, “Do you want to get out of here with me?” 

Harry looked him over. He was nicely shaped, decent shoulders and good legs. He was muscled but in that runner sort of way. And as Harry looked him over, he didn’t think he would be able to count any ribs and was surprised at how that was disappointing. 

“You play darts?” Harry countered and gestured towards the board. 

“Every once in a while. You seem pretty good at it.” 

Harry took another drink. “I’m normally very awkward in bars. Helps to have something in my hands.” 

The blond grinned at him, and Harry caught the double entendre, but Dan didn’t make any other comments. “I saw you working the room. Thought you’d go home with the one bloke.” 

“Me too,” Harry admitted, feeling more comfortable. “His friend talked me out of it.” 

“I guess that makes you a good guy.” 

“I have a friend who would say I’m pathologically incapable of getting laid.” 

He laughed at that. “Can’t say your friend’s wrong. Although, it doesn't mean you can’t change.” 

Harry looked him over, thought about what it would be like to run his hands through that blond, curly hair, what it might be like to kiss those plump lips. “Let’s go.” 

_Thank god._

Dan led Harry out the front door by the hand. The night had turned cold, and Harry’s hand turned cold in Dan’s. It felt wrong, and Harry paused. He’d done this before, picked up someone at a pub and taken them back to his place. It had always been nice, but empty. And Harry thought about it, orgasms were definitely nice, but he was getting those from Malfoy. And, okay, yeah, that was definitely wrong, and a violation of several department policies, and it was Malfoy. 

But it didn’t feel like this. He and Malfoy felt like--like him and Malfoy and this stranger’s hand felt like--well, it felt cold. Harry might not want to wake up next to Malfoy, but he wasn’t going to wake up next to this stranger. And, Harry realized, standing in the cold air with his cold hand that even if he did go home with Dan--if he did wake up next to him in the morning--he was still going home to Malfoy afterwards, he was still going to wake up next to Malfoy. Nothing was going to change. He was still going to want Malfoy 

“What’s wrong?” Dan asked. 

“Apparently my friend was right.” When did Malfoy become a friend? 

_God damn it, Potter! You go after him right this minute! I will NOT be responsible for my actions when you get home! This is the most insane, ludicrous--What is wrong with you?!_

Harry dashed back into the bar, ordered a double, slammed it back, ignoring Malfoy’s outraged tirade in his ear. Glass empty, Harry disappeared into the bathroom. Malfoy had stopped screaming in his ear, and Harry found that both a little frightening and reassuring. He looked at himself in the mirror. There was definitely something wrong with him. He should absolutely not sleep with the subject of an investigation. And yet, and yet. The bathroom was empty, and Harry apparated home. 

“You drunk, stubborn bastard!” Malfoy hissed, pushing Harry into the kitchen. Harry stumbled into the refrigerator. “Two times! Two times you could have gone home with someone. But no! Your stupid, thick skull can’t let you--” 

In what could only be a moment of insanity, Harry cut him off by crushing his lips against Malfoy’s. It was sloppy, too much force and thin pressed lips. It was needy, because all of a sudden Harry felt if he didn’t get something inside Malfoy he was just going to explode. He pulled back minutely, to nibble Malfoy’s lower lip, and Malfoy positively melted underneath him. His whole body sagged against Harry. His mouth opened up and it was a swirl of tongues and teeth and lips. And by the time Harry was done plundering that mouth they were both hard and rocking against each other. 

“You’re drunk,” Malfoy gasped, when Harry moved from his mouth to his neck and sucked. “I-I-god that’s nice.” He moaned when Harry licked the corner of his jaw. “Harry,” he pushed Harry’s head away enough to look him in the eye. “Is this what you want?” 

“Yes,” Harry’s voice was thick and heavy. “I couldn’t go home with him. He wasn’t you,” he said because it was true, and that scared him. Malfoy swallowed hard. 

He rested his head on Malfoy’s shoulder. “I want to fuck you.” Harry’s hands slipped into the back of the joggers, on to all that smooth skin, pulling Malfoy roughly to him. He kissed him again, just as rough and messy, lips not slotted together but mashed and desperate. Malfoy clung to Harry’s shirt, chest heaving, moaning and rocking and unable to stop. 

“Harry,” Malfoy moaned in his ear, teeth scraping the lobe, and then he shoved Harry hard across the kitchen, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “No. You don’t want me. You drank too much, you--you couldn’t find someone at the bar, and I’m convenient.” His hands shook as he slid the joggers down, he bit his lip and looked at Harry’s chest, at the bulge in his denims, at his hands hanging limply at his side. He looked everywhere but Harry’s face. And Harry wondered, suddenly, if Draco was nervous. “I don’t care. Just-just don’t pretend it’s more than it is.” The joggers hit the floor, and Malfoy stalked forward between Harry’s legs, ran a hand down Harry’s chest and over his cock. “Don’t lie to me.” 

Harry breathed hard, and then pulled his hand away. “Yeah, okay. But I didn’t drink that much, and I didn’t want to go home with Dan. Only a fool would call you convenient, and I am not going to lie. I don’t want to fuck you.” Draco’s expression fell, and Harry leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as he said, “I want you to fuck me, Draco.” He pulled back and started to take off his shirt. 

Harry’s hands moved to unbutton his denims, and Draco stared at his face. “You’ve lost your mind.” 

Harry sank to his knees on the cold kitchen tile. “Maybe.” His hand wrapped around Draco’s cock. “Maybe I just want you.” He licked the head experimentally, and then sucked Draco down all the way. Draco sank his hands in Harry’s hair, holding tight. 

“Oh god.” Harry worked himself up and down that long glorious prick, savored the moans and sighs that came out of Malfoy’s mouth. “Stop.” Draco pulled his head back suddenly. 

“You should just fuck me; I don’t know what to do.” 

And then Harry grinned up at him. “You’ll need lube. There’s oil on the counter.” Malfoy’s hand shook as he reached out for the bottle. “Coat your fingers.” Draco drizzled the oil slowly over his long middle finger, careful not to let a drop hit the floor. “Oh god, you’re going to be amazing at this.” Harry watched, eyes glued to those long fingers, moving slowly, surely, to keep from dripping on the floor. “Come here.” 

He pulled Draco closer. “Start with one.” Malfoy reached behind him, and slid his finger over Harry’s hole, felt the edges, pushed in just slightly, felt the give and then sank his finger into the knuckle. Harry kissed Malfoy. 

“Fuck,” Malfoy moaned and began to wiggle that finger in and out of the tight heat that was Harry. Back and forth, stretching. 

“Add another,” Harry groaned, voice low, demanding; it had been so long, too long, and this was perfect. Draco pulled his hand away to drizzle more oil onto the two fingers. Harry practically growled, but then Draco was back, pushing two fingers in and out, stretching and searching. When he brushed up against it, Harry whined, and Draco moved to find it again, this time a direct touch. “Fuck. Fuck me.” 

“Here?” Draco asked uncertainly. 

“Here.” Harry turned over leaning against the counter. He’d never done anything like this in the kitchen. The bedroom, back when he’d still brought people home, the living room with Ginny that last time. But never the kitchen. And then Draco was pushing in, slowly at first, still hesitant, but it was still good. And Harry felt full, and Draco’s hand was reaching around to stroke him in time with his thrusts. 

After all this time, it didn’t take long. Draco stayed slow and methodical right until the end, he was determined and deliberate, and frustrating, and all the things Harry remembered Draco being before. And in those last few thrusts he lost control, muttering and moving wildly, his hand no longer stroking Harry, but it was fine because Harry was thrusting into it, rutting back and forth just as blindly until they were both gasping and sticky and spilled out. 

Draco collapsed a little bit onto Harry’s back. “Was it--was it okay?” 

Harry laughed. “Okay? You need some better words, Draco. Fine, okay, those are not good words for sex.” 

“But, did you like it?” His voice wavered, and Harry felt the need to see his face even if it meant Draco’s cock no longer nestled inside. 

He leaned up slowly and carefully turned around. “Yes, I liked it. I liked it very much.” He smiled and put a hand on Draco’s face. “Let’s go to bed now.” 

Draco nodded, rubbing his check against Harry’s hand. “Only if you promise not to push me out in the morning.” He tried to scowl, but it ended up as more of a lopsided grin. 

“I may push in in the morning,” Harry replied. “But I definitely won’t be pushing you out.” 

* 

The morning was actually sort of lovely. They were both sort of mellow and soft with lazy, gentle caresses that didn’t need to go anywhere. Harry smiled, pleased with the soreness, and rolled in Malfoy’s arms. Malfoy laid on his back, running his fingers through Harry’s hair, and not saying anything for a long time. Around the point Harry felt like he either needed to make this comforting, domestic scene more or get up, Malfoy pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead and pulled his arm out from under Harry. 

“You have work,” he said. 

And Harry groaned. “I’d rather stay home and see what it is that you do all day.” 

“Grace offered to take me to the supermarket today. She’s apparently having a staycation and told me she needs a project.” 

“So you’re her project?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy smiled in response, but didn’t say anything. Harry sensed a lot of unspoken words in that expression and briefly considered rephrasing the question. “I suppose you will be busy with her all day today.” 

“Yes.” Malfoy walked over to the closet and looked for a pair of trousers less likely to fall down. “Actually, she and I thought we could have supper today, if you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t,” Harry replied, sitting up and stretching. 

“Are you sure? I can eat with her in her flat and bring you some leftovers.” Malfoy came out of the closet in a pair of dark denims and pulling an old jumper over his head. “I know you aren’t a big fan of other people.” 

“I don’t mind,” Harry repeated. It was odd that Malfoy had noticed that, even though Malfoy didn’t see him outside the flat. Not so long ago, only a few weeks ago actually, Harry would have minded quite a lot at the assumption that he would want to eat with a near stranger. In fact, one of the last fights he ever had with Ginny was about spontaneously going out with some of her teammates for a drink. Harry remembered the way she hadn’t screamed but made logical arguments, and the way he had gotten steadily more and more angry. 

Malfoy gave him a long considered look as if he knew what Harry was thinking, and then said, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

And Harry felt weird, almost shaken, because here he was, making dinner plans with Draco Malfoy. The sex last night hadn’t done it, but dinner plans, with a neighbor no less, made him feel like he was in an actual relationship, even more so then when he was actually dating Ginny or Liam. With a horrified shake of his head, Harry got up and started his day. 

It progressed in a reasonable and uncomplicated fashion. Some talk around the office about the monthly drinks out at the Leaky, a casual conversation with Ron about the kids, and then Harry was headed home again, actually feeling good. 

Harry opted to walk home, because Grace was a muggle and it was not a terribly cold day. He could hear them laughing inside the apartment, and Harry paused outside the door just to listen for a moment. Draco had a nice laugh. 

With a smile, he pushed open the door and was greeted with the scent of lasagna. “Come on, lasagna is, like, a staple from my childhood. I realize that’s on the other side of the pond for you guys, but how have you never had lasagna?” She was laughing and teasing Draco, and he was laughing and trying to put salad in a bowl. 

“What can I say? I’ve led a sheltered life.” 

“No joke.” She poked him in the ribs. “Who doesn’t know how to do laundry? Have you never lived away from home? Do you just go out and buy new clothes every week?” 

Malfoy’s eyes were crinkled in amusement as he said, “Good thing you came to my rescue, who knows what I would have done to those clothes!” 

She laughed and began to set plates on the table. 

“Looks like you guys have had a nice day.” Harry smiled at both of them. 

“I don’t know how you put up with Draco.” Grace smiled back at him. “He is completely clueless!” 

“Only about the domestics.” Draco waggled his eyebrows. “I am sure Harry would tell you I have some other, more redeeming qualities.” 

Harry gave him a teasing look. “Don’t be so sure about that. You definitely take up all the space in the bed.” 

Malfoy laughed, “Is that why I’m always on the floor in the morning?” 

It was a disturbingly nice atmosphere to come home to, Harry decided. 

* 

Later, after the dishes had been cleaned up, and Grace had bid them both a good night, Malfoy was cleaning up the wine glasses. And Harry remembered the work drinks. “If you don’t mind, there’s a work thing next week, drinks at the end of the day. I thought I’d go.” 

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders, tidying up the living room. “S’fine.” 

“You could come, if you wanted,” Harry said hesitantly 

Malfoy stilled while fluffing the pillows. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea for me. I don’t really drink anyway.” 

“S’fine,” Harry said, walking into the bedroom. “Grace seems very nice. For an American.” 

“That’s racist,” Malfoy called, walking to the doorway. Harry chuckled softly at his angry expression, and then Malfoy broke into a smile. “Alright.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s nice, and she doesn’t ask a lot of questions. She’s easy to be around,” Malfoy explained. He still hadn’t come all the way into the room. 

“Are you coming to bed?” Harry asked, and the room suddenly felt loaded with tension. 

“I--I,” Draco stuttered. He looked between the bed and the sofa and then stared at the floor. 

And Harry didn’t want to push. Last night had been--it had been--well--And then this morning--Harry felt a warmth in his belly. And it was sort of weird, the way everyone thought Harry was dating Trevor/Malfoy and Malfoy was really just vital evidence. And really Harry shouldn’t get emotionally involved, and it was better for everyone if Malfoy slept on the sofa. And both of them knew it, knew all the reasons Malfoy shouldn’t be in Harry’s bed. But a part of Harry just didn’t care anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

Monday morning rolled around again. It was the third Monday Harry had woken up with Malfoy in his apartment and it was starting to feel normal to make two servings of eggs and to have orange juice and coffee, to trade time in the shower and to see the hamper fill up twice as fast. Not just normal, but nice to have a warm body in the bed next to him, and to see Draco leaning on the rail of the balcony as he sipped the juice. And if Harry sometimes wanted to run his fingers through his hair or drop a kiss on his shoulder or just sit next to him on the sofa, well, that was nice too. 

Things in the office were less nice that morning. Atkinson was at his desk again, smiling that horrible smile with all his teeth, and Harry could feel his stomach clench up and he was really regretting all of those pancakes now. He leaned down over Harry’s shoulder as Harry began to sort through his memos. “He’s in London.” 

“Who is?” Harry asked, because Atkinson had ruined his morning buzz. 

“Draco Malfoy.” 

“Great.” He arbitrarily put this memo in a different pile and picked up the next despite having not read it. 

“Aren’t you going to investigate?” Atkinson snarled, finally succumbing to Harry’s irritating antics. 

“Because I live at _your_ beck and call.” Harry shoved his chair back into Atkinson’s knees causing him to stumble back a step. It felt good in a petty sort of way. “Let’s go.” He grabbed his coat because it was cold and a cloak would look out of place in muggle London. 

Atkinson quickly caught up to Harry at the Floo. “Let’s start in Soho.” 

“Fine.” Harry tossed in the powder and quickly stepped in, leaving Atkinson a few steps behind again. He popped out in an abandoned shop that was spelled to the nines and full of litter. Atkinson arrived shortly after him. “Thoughts on where to start,” Harry grumbled at him. 

“I’ve narrowed down the entire world to one city. You could at least be grateful for the work I’ve been doing over the last week and a half,” Atkinson growled back. 

“A city with almost nine million people, this should be a breeze.” Harry opened the front door and stepped out. “Why Soho?” 

“And where in London do you think Draco would go?” Atkinson countered. 

“Not Soho.” Although, he wouldn’t have guessed his apartment either, so what did he know? “I guess we can start by asking people if they’ve seen him.” 

“You’re just going to show his picture around?” Atkinson asked, somewhat horrified. 

“Yep,” Harry said, because it was literally the only idea he had. He stuck his hand in his pocket for a scrap of paper, ducked back in the empty building and transfigured it into a picture of Malfoy. It wasn’t great, but the likeness was good enough. And then he stepped back onto the street and began asking if anyone had seen him. 

He walked back and forth in front of a vintage clothing store, some place that only sold whiskey, and a café with a large display of pastries in the window. Harry got quite a few odd looks from the pedestrians, some “good lucks,” and even one “missing boyfriend, eh? That’s rough,” before he thought Atkinson might explode at the utter lack of progress. By then, they were both cold and had been asking for nearly two hours. Harry walked over to Atkinson, pointed at the café and said, “I’m going in there to ask and get some tea.” 

Atkinson grunted his approval, and they both crossed the street for the café. 

Harry spent a long time looking over the pastries, deciding which ones he would like best, wondering which ones Malfoy would like best, and then deciding, if Harry were to buy some for Malfoy, which he would buy. And while common sense would dictate that Harry ought to buy the ones he thought Malfoy would like, reality said Harry would buy the ones with the most calories. 

In the end, Harry bought a large tea and a breakfast sandwich because he was hungry. Atkinson, he noticed, had coffee. While waiting for the sandwich, Harry struck up a conversation with the barista and sipped on his delightfully hot tea. 

“Been working here a while?” 

“A few months.” She whipped up foam for a latte. 

“Like the job?” 

“The early mornings are a little rough sometimes, but the free coffee helps.” She smiled at him. “You’re awfully chatty.” 

“I’m actually looking for someone, and I was wondering if you maybe saw him around.” Harry showed her the picture of Malfoy. 

She studied the picture for a long moment. “I do remember him. He was here a month ago.” 

“A month?” Harry asked, surprised. “Are you sure?” 

“Yep.” The barista started in on a cappuccino. “I remember because he bought me a candy bar when I told him it was my birthday. Said it was a shame to have to work on such an occasion. He was a funny guy, looked thinner than your picture.” 

“Thanks.” Harry tucked the picture back into his pocket, took his sandwich, and sat down next to Atkinson. 

“This isn’t the time to be hitting on pretty girls,” Atkinson complained. 

Harry took a sip of tea. “I’ll keep that in mind. Remind me when the theft happened.” 

“Two weeks ago and two days,” Atkinson said. “You know that.” 

“Huh,” Harry said absently even though he was paying very close attention to Atkinson. “This place is pretty far from the Ministry. I wonder what Malfoy was doing here a month ago.” 

Malfoy snorted in his ear. 

“A month ago?” Atkinson’s head shot up. “What are you talking about?” 

“The barista remembered him coming into the cafe a month ago,” Harry replied and then took a bite from his sandwich. 

“Impossible.” Atkison finished his coffee. “She must be mistaken.” 

“She seemed pretty sure,” Harry said. “Maybe Malfoy came out here during his downtime.” He pretended to be very interested in eating his sandwich while Atkison crinkled his cup in his hands. 

_Downtime. I remember downtime, playing gobstones with Goyle, joking with Pansy. Those were wonderful times. Can I go back to fifth year again? _Malfoy reminisced in Harry’s ear.__

__Harry didn’t say anything, just quickly finished his sandwich. “Want to stay around here? Or trying some place else?”_ _

__“Some place else,” Atkinson said firmly._ _

__They criss crossed across London, hitting all the corners, if not every alley. And every place new, there was somebody who remembered seeing Malfoy, whether it was just last week or six months ago. Atkinson actually gave the guy who saw him last week some credit, but outright ignored anyone else._ _

__Alone in the bathroom that afternoon, Harry mused aloud. “It’s like you never left the Ministry, and he knows it.”_ _

_Maybe because he is the one who kept me from leaving._

__“I wish I knew why.”_ _

_Puppies and rainbows, Potter. Puppies and Rainbows._

__“I hate it when you say that.” Harry scowled at his reflection. “I really hate it.”_ _

__He and Atkinson tailed the one-week guy for a while, it didn’t lead to anything productive, for either of them. And Harry was pretty pissed by the time Big Ben rang out at six o’clock._ _

__“Well, this has been very enlightening.” Harry expressed his displeasure at Atkinson. “I am going home now. If you’d like to pick this up tomorrow, fine.”_ _

__“I doubt we will find anything useful, but I think it is still important to follow any credible leads,” he grumbled and scowled back._ _

__“Uh-huh.” Harry didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “See you tomorrow then.” And he apparated home._ _

__The apartment smelled divine, like chicken and rosemary, and at first Harry didn’t see Malfoy. But then he saw the balcony door was open, and he could hear Malfoy speaking, presumably, to Grace._ _

__“So you just boil potatoes and then use a fork to squish them down?” Malfoy’s voice drifted in through the open door._ _

__Harry wandered over. After all day asking people if they’d seen Malfoy, he actually wanted to see Malfoy._ _

__“Yep, a little salt and pepper, butter and milk, and you got mashed potatoes.”_ _

__“How much?”_ _

__She laughed, light and lilting like Ginny when she was happy. “My mom always used to say enough. Bring it out here and I’ll tell you.”_ _

__Malfoy turned around. “Harry, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”_ _

__“Am I interrupting something?” Harry asked, more curious than anything else._ _

__“I was trying to make mashed potatoes. Grace is helping me.”_ _

__“Oh.” Harry stepped out onto the balcony. “Hello.”_ _

__“Hello,” Grace grinned even more, and then called loudly, “Bring the milk!”_ _

__A moment later, Malfoy reappeared with a pot of boiled potatoes. “I think we’re out of milk.”_ _

__“You’re helpless.” She shook her head and disappeared into her own apartment and reappeared a moment later with a little carton of milk. “Here, pour a glug in there.”_ _

__Malfoy dutifully poured in a glug and mashed the potatoes with a fork until Grace told him to add butter. Potter grabbed the butter for Malfoy and watched him mash that into the potatoes too._ _

__“Now add a bit more milk, it needs to be creamer. That’s it.” Grace smiled. “Now just taste for salt and pepper.” Malfoy disappeared back to the kitchen, and Grace turned that smile on Harry. “He seems like a good guy, even if he doesn’t know his way around the kitchen.”_ _

__“I don’t really know about cooking either,” Harry admitted because he didn’t know what else to say._ _

__“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m here,” Grace said and then wandered back into her apartment, and Harry wondered if other people didn’t know how to talk to him either. He drifted back into the apartment to see Malfoy furiously stirring some very creamy mashed potatoes. “I feel like I did this wrong.”_ _

__“It looks fine to me,” Harry replied, not really concerned if he could drink his mashed potatoes or not._ _

__“I wanted to make a good meal for you. I felt bad, sticking you with Atkinson all day.”_ _

__“It wasn’t that bad.”_ _

__“It was.” Malfoy scowled. “I would know; I worked with him.”_ _

__“Hmm,” said Harry, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “When will the chicken be done?”_ _

__Malfoy scowled. “Don’t ask me questions.”_ _

__“Sorry.” Harry scowled back. “I hope the chicken will be done soon.”_ _

__“Grace says five more minutes.”_ _

__“And Grace taught you how to roast a chicken.”_ _

__“And mac and cheese at lunch,” Malfoy said. “And she helped me with the microwave too.”_ _

__“Ah,” Harry said, as if that explained everything._ _

__“I thought I would have it all done when you got home. I really do feel badly for today.”_ _

__“Just today?” Harry asked, knowing that Malfoy would answer a different question instead._ _

__“I used to work with Atkinson, remember?” Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Harry set the table. “I know what an arse he can be.”_ _

__“Well, you won’t catch me calling it an amusement ride, but it wasn’t the worst day ever either.”_ _

__“That’s not saying anything,” Malfoy scorned. “You died.”_ _

__Harry froze. “How do you know that?”_ _

__Malfoy stopped cooking and looked Harry straight in the eye. His voice was terribly even and almost sad when he said, “That’s a question.”_ _

Harry squeezed his eyes and his fists tight until his knuckles and his jaw ached from the clenching. “Fine,” he ground out. “You _can’t_ know that.” 

__“Everyone in the department knows,” Malfoy replied, stirring the potatoes again. “You’re like some god down there. It’s not a secret.”_ _

__“That’s not helpful.” But it was the first time Harry could see Malfoy trying to help._ _

__Malfoy paused. “So different divisions have different rules, right? Well, I don’t know all the rules for all the divisions. I know I can’t tell you things and the tea will make me lie. Maybe some of Granger’s tea makes them tell the truth? I don’t know. What I do know is everyone in the department knows you died. Makes some people really want to get to know you, if you catch my drift.”_ _

__Harry decided to let it go. “I was surprised to see Grace.”_ _

__Malfoy pulled the chicken out of the oven. “Why? We had dinner with her last week.”_ _

__“I don’t know. It just seems odd to me. Who knew you’d want a muggle’s help.” Harry sat down to eat._ _

__Malfoy sat down in his chair and looked toward the balcony. “She’s going through a rough break-up. Boyfriend was cheating on her, stuck her with all the bills, and her not having a high paying job. It’s hard for her.”_ _

__“You sound sympathetic.”_ _

__“I guess you could say I know what it’s like, to find out the guy you think you love is only interested in you as a fun fuck on the side.” Malfoy cut himself a piece of chicken and spooned out some mashed potatoes. “Learn anything interesting today?_ _

__Harry knew he didn’t think of Malfoy as a fun fuck on the side, and he was pretty sure Malfoy knew that too. Was he implying someone else had? “Apparently you gave this barista in Soho a birthday present a month ago.”_ _

__“I hope she liked it.”_ _

__“Chocolate, but she remembered you.”_ _

__“It’s nice to be remembered,” Malfoy said dreamily. “How’s the chicken?”_ _

__“Good.” It was a reasonably quiet meal. Malfoy did the dishes, and Harry turned on the TV. Around 10 they both went to bed in the bedroom._ _

__*_ _

__Tuesday was very much like Monday, except Harry got the shower first. Malfoy was back to wearing the joggers, but his bones were less prominent, and Harry counted that as a win. And then scolded himself strongly because he shouldn’t care much at all if Malfoy gained weight even though he did._ _

__Atkinson dragged him all over London again. A guy at the movie theater swore up and down he saw Malfoy on the same day as the barista, and Harry would have thought one of them was lying except for the laughter in his ear. Then there was the banker who’d talked Draco into some sort of retirement fund, the shop keep who’d sold him a lawn mower, and the mother of twins in the park._ _

__Each story wound Atkinson up tighter and tighter until they arrived at the last place, a skeevy bar. A young guy was loitering outside smoking and Harry approached him without much interest._ _

__“Yeah, I seen him.” He took another puff. “Good cocksucker, that one.”_ _

__“When did you see him?” Harry asked, ignoring the last comment and Atkinson’s bristling._ _

__“Last week. Just stormed up to me and asked if I’d let him suck me off. I remember, ‘cause he told me my prick was nicer than his boss’s.“_ _

__Atkinson shoved the guy up against the wall, cigarette falling to the ground. “You insolent, pathetic--Draco would never--!”_ _

__The bloke shoved Atkinson off of him and straightened his shirt. “Maybe you should take better care of your things. I find they don’t run away if you feed ‘em proper.” He sneered at Atkinson, but nodded at Harry before going into the bar._ _

__“Draco is better--”_ _

__But Harry held Atkinson back from chasing the pimp inside, as, apparently, he was the only one of them able to think critically. “It’s not real. Malfoy could not have been in all those places at all those times, and there is not one bit of evidence to say he was in any of them.” The words sounded reasonable, but this last guy was different then the others. And Harry knew, knew in his bones._ _

__“Except for eye witnesses.”_ _

__“Spells could fake that.” Harry looked around at the dirty pavement, the rundown buildings, and the grimy people. Muddy, Malfoy said he had made it all muddy, Harry remembered suddenly. “He stole something valuable, so he had to know people would come after him. What if he cast a bunch of spells all over London to muddy the water. He might not be in London at all by now.”_ _

__“He’s in London,” Atkinson said darkly._ _

__“Maybe, but we can’t trust these stories that we’ve been told. The logistics of them aren’t possible.”_ _

__Harry looked back at the bar. This story, this was confrontational, angry, almost as if it were a message from Malfoy to Atkinson. Muddy, Malfoy had said. Was it just for Atkinson, or was he trying to muddy things up for Harry too?_ _

__“It’s late. Let’s call it a day and try again tomorrow,” Harry suggested, and Atkinson huffed irritated but didn’t disagree. “Great. See you tomorrow then.”_ _

__Harry stopped at his desk to gather some paperwork to finish at home, and then left. Malfoy was standing at the stove stirring something in a big pot. It smelled buttery._ _

__“What did he look like?” Malfoy asked, voice tight but even._ _

__“What did who look like?” Harry dug through his pile of papers for the list he’d started on Malfoy._ _

__“Questions, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was utterly devoid of emotion._ _

__“I hate you sometimes.” But it seemed important to Malfoy, like he needed to know. “Atkinson? I don’t know. I was talking to the pimp.” Harry found the list._ _

__“Wish I could have seen his face. He sounded furious, I wonder if that vein in his forehead went purple. Did he hit the pimp? I wish he hit the pimp.”_ _

__Harry stilled, knowing but needing confirmation. “Did you suck his cock?”_ _

__Malfoy laughed, loud and cruel. “Oh yes, I went through all of London, created elaborate and imaginary scenarios that took place at impossible times in an effort to thwart and irritate Atkinson, but I actually got down on my knees for a pimp in an alley next to a skeevy bar._ _

__“So, Atkinson. You sucked his prick.”_ _

__Malfoy stopped laughing and drifted over to the balcony door. “I did a lot of things for Atkinson, the kinds of things you do when you fancy you’re in love.” His long fingers traced patterns on the glass._ _

__“Did you love him?” The words slipped out of Harry before he could stop them._ _

__Draco went back to the kitchen to stir the pot. “Potter.”_ _

__“Did you--” Harry stopped. How was he supposed to ask about Draco’s relationship without actually asking. And would Draco even answer? “I need to know about your relationship with Atkinson.”_ _

__Draco put down the spoon. “Complicated? Stupid? Why do you need to know? It’s not relevant to the case. All you have to do is figure out what I stole?”_ _

__“Something of Atkinson’s. Something powerful,” Harry said. “And you don’t think the nature of your relationship with him has something to do with that?”_ _

__“Are you asking me a question?”_ _

__Harry sighed, too tired to play these kinds of games tonight. “Look, a trade. I tell you about Ginny, you tell me about Atkinson.”_ _

__“You first Potter, what exactly happened between you and Ginevra Weasley?” Malfoy got out plates and forks._ _

__“I’m not sure I rightly know,” Harry admitted. “One day she asked about going to a Quidditch match, and I said I didn’t much feel like it, and then she said, I guess that means we’re breaking up. And then we did.” It had actually been a lot like this moment, except with Harry in the kitchen getting a beer and Ginny hovering near the sofa, still in her leathers. Harry remembered she looked sort of tired, with lines around her eyes and a limpness in her arms. Not tired, he realized afterward, resigned. She’d known he would refuse before she’d asked, and known she couldn’t follow Harry into that hole of self isolation he’d created. A hole he hadn’t fully recognized until just recently. Robards was right, he did have a communication problem._ _

__“Huh,” Malfoy paused before spooning chicken and creamy rice onto the plates. “I would have thought that the whole being into blokes thing would have played a bigger role.”_ _

__Harry laughed, “Yeah, me too.”_ _

__Draco put the plates on the table. “Atkinson was nice to me. From the very beginning. He’d come over from Red Division and check on my work, brought me coffee or a sandwich for lunch. Defended me even, on occasion.” He sighed. “I mean, he wasn’t a nice person. People talked about how he could just tear into people, especially young Unspeakables. But, when you did something right,” Draco’s eyes got soft and he almost smiled, “You knew you’d done something really, really good. Sometimes I’d be working late in the lab, and he would come in to check and talk to me about things like--like what I said and what I thought was important. Nobody talked to me like that.” He toyed with the rice on his plate_ _

__“You were in love with him.”_ _

__Draco shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I was or not. I took the job in his department. I--I did the work and I thought I could do something important, something that would protect people. Took me a long time to figure out his game, and by then, it was already too late. Couldn’t just get out.”_ _

__“Stealing something valuable is certainly a way to break things off.” Harry took a bite of chicken._ _

__“I think it got my point across.” Malfoy smiled into his rice. “What do you think of the rice?”_ _

__Harry took a bite, creamy, buttery, salty, “It’s good.”_ _

__“Grace taught me how to make it.”_ _

__“You seem to enjoy the cooking.”_ _

__Malfoy stirred his rice. “Yeah, it feels important, feeding people. And, and I can’t really do much else, but I can do this.”_ _

__“You can do a lot, Malfoy,” Harry said. “You got good marks in school. You’re not stupid, you know, when you’re not all crazy.”_ _

__“Thanks, Potter.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but Harry could tell he was still pleased by the comment._ _

__“I really ought to get you a wand. No reason not to really.”_ _

__Malfoy went still again. “It won’t help, Potter.”_ _

__“Maybe it won’t be as good, but surely any wand is better than no wand.”_ _

__“Just let it go.”_ _

__But Harry couldn’t, for some reason. “I don’t understand your reluctance. It’s not that big a deal. I can pop into the Olivander’s tomorrow after work, and--”_ _

__“Give me your wand, Potter,” Malfoy growled holding his arm out._ _

__For a moment, Harry hesitated, and then, because he didn’t want Malfoy to think he had been lying, put his wand in Malfoy’s hand._ _

__“Accio,” Malfoy pointed at a napkin. “Evanesco.” He kept his attention on the napkin. “Incendio. Lumos.” Nothing happened. “I could go on, but I think you get my point.” Malfoy handed the wand back._ _

__Harry put his wand away. “But, but you can do blood magic and you made all that stuff fly through the apartment and you locked me in my room.”_ _

__“Anyone can do blood magic, muggles, wizards, stupid owls. It’s the lowest form of magic and requires only a strong will.” Malfoy pushed his food away. “You did it.” Malfoy held up his hand and showed the long scar across his palm._ _

__“But--but what happened to your magic?”_ _

__“Puppies and rainbows, Potter. It’s always puppies and rainbows. They’re so sweet with their concern, their affection and kisses, with the way they listen to a lonely ex-Death Eater with no one else to talk to.” He crossed his arms and glared angrily into a corner._ _

__“Atkinson took your magic. But he can't steal your magic.”_ _

__Malfoy slowly took off his shirt, and Harry could see all the thin silver scars. “He didn’t steal my magic, Potter, he made it impossible for me to find. I imagine it’s like losing an arm or a leg. They talk about ghost sensations, phantom itch. I don’t know about all that, but I do know I’m never whole. I’m never me.”_ _

__Harry reached out, but Malfoy was already putting his shirt back on. “I don’t need your pity.” He scowled._ _

__“I don’t pity you,” Harry lied because the horror was receding enough that he could feel pity for Malfoy. “I wish there was something I could do.”_ _

__“There is.” Malfoy picked up a forkful of rice. “You figure it out. Figure out what I stole, and tell everyone.”_ _

__*_ _

__It was a revelation, and one Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the rest of the week. He took his list to work and spent hours adding details and agonizing over them. He knew, knew before, that Atkinson had taken advantage of Malfoy... But the magic? He knew Malfoy had told him before, really he’d made it blindingly obvious, but Harry still had trouble wrapping his mind around it._ _

__Maybe Harry didn’t understand the specifics, but Atkinson had stolen Malfoy’s magic. Whatever Malfoy said, if he couldn’t use his magic, then stolen was the word Harry was going to use. And Harry couldn’t even imagine what that was like. And every time he tried, he just saw Malfoy stumbling and bleeding and crazy all through the flat. It was torture. Whatever Atkinson had done, it was a daily torture for Malfoy._ _

__Ron popped into the room with two cups of tea. “Care for one?” He asked, and Harry nodded, inhaling the Earl Grey. “How’s the case going?”_ _

__Harry shook his head. “Going? Every time I--God, it’s all so messed up.” He closed his casefile on Malfoy. “Let’s talk about something else, something less depressing, please?”_ _

__“Okay, are you going to the office party on Friday? Drinks at the Leaky.”_ _

__“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it.” Harry leaned back in his chair, still thinking about Malfoy._ _

__“Hermione’s coming, and I invited Ginny along too, even though she’s not strictly invited, it’s a bar, what are they going to do, kick her out? You could bring Trevor.” Ron suggested in a light tone that meant he was anything but casual._ _

__Harry took a long sip of tea. “I don’t know if he wants to go to some boring work party,” he said, half expecting Malfoy to make some reply in his ear, but there was nothing._ _

__“Maybe.” Ron shrugged. “I always like going to Hermione’s parties, gives me a chance to actually see her coworkers and find something out about where she works, especially since she can’t talk much about it. You never know, Trevor might like that chance.”_ _

__Still no retort from Malfoy, and Harry didn’t like where all this talking was going. “I’ll ask.” He picked up his files and looked at the clock. “Got a meeting with Robards to update him on this stupid case.”_ _

__“Good luck.” Ron saluted him with his coffee cup._ _

__*_ _

__Robards gestured to the chair and Harry shut the door. “So, how’s the Unspeakable case going?”_ _

__“Slow, sir,” Harry admitted._ _

__“You haven’t submitted very many reports.” Robards leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Atkinson is complaining that you aren’t taking the case seriously.”_ _

__“As I have explained to Unspeakable Atkinson numerous times, we don’t have any leads. There isn’t much I can do without any leads.”_ _

__“Why don’t we go over the facts of the case together then. Maybe I’ll see something you’ve missed.“_ _

_Like the fact that you’re harboring the accused in your flat?_ Harry didn’t smile, but he wanted to. 

__Harry spread his reports across Robards desk, the reports from his interactions with Atkinson, not including his own list of facts about the case. Robards, after all, drank the tea._ _

__After about fifteen minutes of looking and reading, Harry said, “It would help to know what was stolen.”_ _

__“I’m afraid that’s classified information, even I don’t know.” Robards frowned._ _

__“Sir, not to be dismissive, but, if we don’t even know what was stolen, how do we know something was taken at all?”_ _

__Robards looked up, rubbed his face with one hand, and considered just how to reply. Harry knew that expression, it was the one he wore when he felt like Harry was making a valid point but couldn’t actually acknowledge it. “The Unspeakable department works very differently,” he said, “we have to abide by their rules.”_ _

__“I’m trying, but their rules are making it kind of impossible to solve this case.”_ _

__“Perhaps you’d like to have tea with Atkinson,” Robards suggested seriously._ _

__“I like tea just as much as the next person, but I am not going to sit down with that man and have a cuppa. I just want to do my job.”_ _

__“I’m sorry, Harry. That’s my only advice for you.”_ _

__Harry rolled his eyes and gathered up his reports. “Well, if there isn’t anything else?” He said and left without waiting for a reply._ _

__Back at his desk, Harry tossed the folder down and glared at it when the resulting smack wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped. Abruptly, he decided to take Malfoy to the supermarket instead of working. If he was going to spend all day thinking about him, he might as well do it in a more pleasant atmosphere. And hey, maybe if he was lucky, Malfoy would say something useful!_ _

__It was a little after 4pm when Harry arrived back at the flat. Malfoy was dressed in a pair of nice trousers and a green button down shirt Harry had forgotten he owned. Seeing Malfoy in his clothes made him wonder if he ought to get Malfoy some things of his own. But, something inside Harry rebuked that idea. Clothes felt weirdly permanent, and Malfoy wasn’t staying, even though he didn’t have anywhere else to go._ _

__“I, ah, I thought we could go to the supermarket. Together.” Harry stuttered when Malfoy turned to look at him._ _

__Malfoy fixed him with an unreadable expression that made Harry feel very uncomfortable. “Okay. I need some shoes.”_ _

__“Oh, right.” Harry looked over at the tidy pile of shoes by the door and wondered just when Malfoy had organized them. “I don’t know what size you wear.”_ _

__Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You have a wand.” But then he got insecure, “Is there a-a pair I should wear?”_ _

__He’d been wearing Harry’s clothes all this time, but found shoes more intimate? “Any one’s you like?” Harry replied, confused._ _

__Slowly, Malfoy picked his way through the very tidy room to the shoes. In one fluid movement he bent down and found a pair of scuffed black dress shoes Harry hated to wear._ _

__“You want those? They’re super uncomfortable.” Malfoy paused, and Harry wondered if Malfoy picked them because they were the exact sort of fancy thing he used to wear. And then he thought of Malfoy with the joggers slipping low over his arse, and he swallowed. “I just mean you can wear anything you want, not just the stuff I never wear.”_ _

__Still crouched, Malfoy said to the floor, “I don’t want to be an imposition.”_ _

__“You being comfortable is not an imposition to me.” Harry raked a hand through his hair, and looked at Draco, at the fall of his hair and the sharp color of the shirt, and the smooth lines and the way he stood out in crisp definition to everything Harry owned. Even dressed in things Harry owned. “I mean, you look—” He coughed. “Just wear what you want.”_ _

__His hands drifted over to a pair of loafers that Harry only wore when he was going out but were more comfortable than the dress shoes. Malfoy put one foot in each shoe and then stood up to look at them. Harry liked the way he studied his feet, the drape of the trousers against the shoe, the way he made an informed decision to wear the loafers. “Will you spell them for me?” Malfoy asked after putting on the second shoe._ _

__“Of course.” Harry nodded and cast._ _

__The shoes adjusted to the right size. “Thank you.” Malfoy gave Harry a grateful smile and then stretched out his arms. “I look alright?”_ _

__Even though Harry had just spent several minutes admiring his look, he took another moment. His hair was almost long enough to tie back, but hung messily. The top button of the dress shirt was undone, but tucked into the trousers which actually seemed to fit. He looked clean and tall, in control and casual. He looked like Draco. “It’s good.”_ _

__“Lead the way, Potter.” They stepped out onto the hall. “I hope work was fine.”_ _

__“Not terribly interesting, but no surprise visits from Atkinson today, so, I would say a good day.” Harry took a deep breath. “And I hope your day was enjoyable.” They stepped out onto the sidewalk._ _

__“Yes,” Draco smiled, “Grace lent me a cookbook, and I spent several hours reading through the recipes. It has some good instructions on how to do things like saute vegetables and make stock. It’s not unlike potion making.”_ _

__They turned the corner, and Harry pointed across the street. “That’s the store. And just a few blocks away is a movie theater. It’s like the telly, but much larger.”_ _

__“What kinds of shows do they have?” Malfoy asked._ _

__“Lots of kinds.” Harry shrugged. “We could go sometime, if you want.”_ _

__“Okay.” They crossed the street and walked through the doors. Malfoy paused, eyes wide at the sight of the produce and the people pushing trolleys through the aisles._ _

__Harry picked up a basket and said, “Since we are just getting a few things.”_ _

__“Right.” Malfoy nodded, and started towards the fresh fruits and vegetables, leaving Harry to trail after him. “Excuse me,” he said politely to a woman standing in front of a display of berries._ _

__“Oh, excuse me.” She pushed her cart out of the way, and Malfoy began to happily inspect the berries._ _

__“Oh, dear, you don’t want those in the front.” She plucked a container from the back. “Give these a sniff.” She handed it to Malfoy._ _

__“What’s wrong with these?” Malfoy gestured towards the produce in the front._ _

__“Oh, first in first out, the grocers always put the newest produce in the back, so they can sell more of the older food before it goes bad.”_ _

__“Oh,” Malfoy nodded. “Thank you for the advice.” He took the berries she handed him back to Harry. “What do you think of these?”_ _

__“They look good.” Harry tucked the little container into the basket. “What next?” They wandered up and down the aisles, with Harry only occasionally pointing things out to Malfoy._ _

__Some sausages and fresh peppers joined the berries, as well as fresh baked bread and an onion. They looked over the beer, and Harry picked out two different kinds. Malfoy admired the variety of breakfast cereals, but added eggs to the basket and a wedge of cheese._ _

__Harry was impressed each time Malfoy spoke to someone, whether it was the employee helping him pick out the cheese, or the new mother whose baby had dropped a toy on the floor. He was patient waiting to pick out his onion, and didn’t mind waiting in line at the till. Draco even made small talk with the cashier, and Harry was struck by how easy the words seemed to come to him, just simple things about the weather and the traffic outside, about the baby who had been in front of them. If Harry had been in the store by himself, he wouldn’t have exchanged more than half a dozen words with anyone, would have moved quickly to get what he needed and leave as soon as possible._ _

__He watched Malfoy carefully help bag their items and thank the cashier, promising to fill out the customer service survey on the receipt. For a man who lived in the Ministry for four years, he hadn’t seemed to have lost any knowledge of the social niceties. Whereas Harry, he realized as they walked back to the flat, who interacted with people each and every day, didn’t seem to know how any more. When had that happened, he asked himself as they stepped back into the flat, Draco toeing off his shoes and carrying groceries to the kitchen._ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG Guys! We've made it to chapter 7! This story is almost entirely posted! Yay! As I said before, this story is nine chapters and 1 epilogue. I will post the epilogue at the same time as chapter 9, which means it should all be posted by early next week.  
> I am so excited that so many of you have been enjoying the story, and I truly hope the mystery lives up to your expectations. Some of you have been guessing, and I love all of your guesses, but I can neither confirm nor deny their accuracy.  
> I am planning to put up another chapter note either in chapter 9 or the epilogue. There has been at least one question that my Beta also asked that I would like to address head on because it has to do with point of view. In this chapter you'll get just a taste of what it's like in Draco's head, but it is all from Harry's point of view. But the epilogue is written entirely from Draco's point of view, so I think, for those of you who have asked this same question, the answer will make more sense after reading that.  
> Lots of Love to all you guys! Enjoy!
> 
> Oh, I didn't really think about this while I was writing the notes, but there should probably be a warning of some kind for this chapter. I don't want to give too much away, but there is some self harm and discussions of abusive relationships. If anybody sees anything else that needs a more specific warning, please let me know so that I can fix that in these notes. Thanks!

Harry looked over his notes for Marie again. It was either that, or work on Malfoy’s case some more, and Harry had more than enough of thinking about fruitless things. His last lead had been the boyfriend who wasn’t. But somebody had to know something. Harry had spoken to the roommate at least three times, her boyfriend more. The parents didn’t know anything, and Marie didn’t seem to have any other friends. Her classmates had liked her well enough, but she didn’t seem to be close to any of them. 

There wasn’t anything to gain from Marie’s death, except a pile of student loans, which implied a crime of passion. But who felt that much passion for a lonely girl with no one else to talk to? And why did that thought feel so familiar? 

Harry let out a disgruntled sigh. It was familiar because it was what Draco had said, a lonely ex-Death Eater with no one else to talk to. Did everything lead back to Draco? He threw the file down on his desk 

But maybe that was the key. Marie was lonely, with very few people she could talk to, her roommate was busy with a boyfriend, and no one else was keeping tabs on her. It would have been easy for her to have a secret relationship. And what was the obvious reason to keep it a secret, because it was her professor. 

Was Dr Connor the type of person to sleep with his own student? Harry thought back over their one encounter. He had been personable, calming, very non-threatening. Not the sort of person you’d imagine committing murder. But definitely the sort of person a young, impressionable woman might fancy herself in love with. 

Staring at the file was not going to solve this case. Harry pulled himself up and checked the time. Dr. Connor would be having office hours soon, perhaps Harry ought to pay him another visit. 

* 

Harry stood in the hallway outside the open door listening to the voices inside the office. He could make out three, two female students and Dr. Connor, and they were discussing some theory or other that Hermione would have probably instantly known, but Harry didn't. And anyway, Harry wasn’t really listening to the words, but more the tone. 

And there was giggling. The simpering kind that Harry was all too familiar with from speaking with young fans who had been waiting anxiously in the Atrium in hopes of just catching sight of him. Their voices took on an almost euphoric cadance when one of them got brave enough to chance a hello and Harry, unthinking, replied. 

But while Harry’s voice almost immediately took on notes of annoyance and quickly detangled himself from the conversation, Dr. Connor seemed to linger over it. His normally warm voice took on an almost husky tone, something more intimate but still genial. It raised concerns in Harry’s mind, and he began considering what he might say to Dr. Connor. 

After a few minutes the girls tittered a goodbye and practically fell over themselves in the hall when Dr. Connor escorted them to his door. He saw Harry waiting. 

“Auror Potter, how can I help you?” That warm tone of voice chilled slightly. 

“You seem quite popular with your students.” Harry did not emphasize the female part, because he was still trying to maintain a friendly attitude. 

“I’m sure you know how impressionable youth can be. A kind word or expression and they fancy themselves in love.” He waved his hand dismissively, but Harry saw him carefully adjusting his trousers. 

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Harry said. “I was hoping to hear a little bit more about Marie. According to her roommate, yours was her favorite class.” 

Dr. Connor gestured for Harry to enter the cluttered office. “She was a bright enough girl, interested in the subject, but nothing extraordinary. I tried to help her as best I could, but, well, you know how those girls can be.” 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about, but he seemed to be in a confiding mood. “Yeah, it’s very flattering when they come up to me on the street, asking for my autograph.” This was not a thing that happened anymore, mostly because Harry avoided wizarding London. He wandered over to the bookshelves. “You’ve got quite a collection here. I’ve a friend who would be quite jealous. Is this a first printing of Magic in the Beginning?” 

Hermione had worn through her copy as if it were Hogwarts: A History. 

“It is.” Dr Connor sounded quite pleased. “I didn’t know you were interested in the origins of magic.” 

“Actually, I’ve taken an interest in Blood Magic lately.” Harry admitted and continued to pursue the shelves. 

“I’ve a colleague who’s made that his life’s study. Gruesome sort of thing.” He shuddered lightly. 

“You’re not wrong.” Harry noticed a notebook haphazardly shoved on top of the shelved books. “I read about a man who used blood smeared across a mirror in order to hide his identity,” he said, thinking of Draco and the mirror in his closet the morning after Ginny had been in the flat. 

“If you are interested in Blood Magic, you should read In the Age of Death and Magic.” Dr. Connor crouched down at another shelf, running his hands across the spines in search of the book. 

Quickly, Harry pulled out the notebook and scanned a page. Definitely a personal journal. He hid the journal in the folds of his robes as Dr. Connor came over with the book. Harry took it with his free hand. “Do you mind if I borrow--” he trailed off. 

“Not at all, anything you like.” Dr. Connor smiled. “It’s always a pleasure to speak to someone about arcane magic.” His hand was warm and lingerd on Harry’s arm in a clear expression of interest. 

“Thanks.” Harry returned the more than friendly smile and felt a bit icky, like he ought to wash his hands thoroughly after touching these things. And maybe he ought to burn the robes. 

* 

He spent the rest of the afternoon reading through what was clearly Marie’s personal journal and running to the bathroom to wash his hands in disgust. Dr. Connor was definitely sleeping with Marie, and there was something horrifying in reading about the way Marie deferred to Connor’s every thought. He wanted her to come to office hours, so she went. He wanted Chinese, they ate Chinese. He wanted her to wear a certain skirt, she wore the skirt. 

It wasn’t that she did those things that made Harry feel filthy, but the way she phrased the descriptions, even in her journal. Dr. Connor was absolutely right about the length of the skirt...He is just brilliant….I can’t believe I’d never even considered it until Dr. Connor suggested… Was it possible that Connor didn’t even know the effect he’d had on Marie? 

Surely no one would deliberately try to erase a person’s opinions like that? 

Luckily, Hermione interrupted at just that moment, and Harry was jerked out of all those upsetting thoughts. “Want to grab dinner? Ron’s caught up in some investigation.” Harry looked down at the journal one last time. He’d lost track of time while reading the damn thing. 

_Go. I’ll eat with Grace._ Malfoy said 

“Sure.” Harry wiggled his fingers and thought about washing his hands again. “God, this thing is a nightmare.” 

“What is it?” Hermione asked and Harry threw it on his desk. 

“It’s--it’s just a case.” Harry shook his head and followed her out into the hall. “Why do some girls let guys just dictate their whole lives? You don’t do that.” 

“I’m going to need some context here.” 

So Harry gave her an outline of the case as they made their way to the curry place across the street. Hermione nodded and listened politely, and then, just as they were sitting down at the table said, “It’s the power dynamic.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, he’s her Professor, he controls her grades, can influence other professor’s opinions of her, and depending on her academic goals he could derail those completely. It’s not like she can just say no.” 

“Are you saying it’s all his fault?” 

“Yes.” Hermione opened the menu and glanced through the options. “It’s deplorable, for him to take advantage of her loneliness and any man could probably do that. But the power dynamic between them makes it so much worse. It’s why relationships between supervisors and employees are so often not allowed in the workplace. Some places even forbid married couples to work in the same building. It’s important for couples to be equal. Any time a man holds power or influence over a woman’s livelihood or her home, it’s an unhealthy relationship.” 

There was so much about Marie that reminded Harry of Draco. “Does it just have to be a man and woman? Can a man do that to another man?” 

Hermione laid her menu to the side. “Is everything with Trevor okay?” 

“It’s not Trevor, actually.” Harry fussed with the napkin in his lap. “Different case, but I just can’t get a handle on the motivations.” 

“It’s not gender specific,” she said. 

Their waiter came over and they both ordered 

When the waiter walked away, Hermione took a sip of water. “Did you want to talk about your other case?” 

Harry hedged for a moment. “It’s the Unspeakable one,” he said at last. “So Malfoy stole something, right? But why? He didn’t have to serve time in Azkaban, just pay some fines and community service, which he did in the Department of Mysteries, which is a pretty prestigious place to work. Why would anyone put that at risk just to steal something?” 

Hermione picked up her fork and toyed with it for a moment. “I don’t know.” 

“I know you can’t talk about work, but surely you saw him even if it was just in the hallway or the lifts.” 

She nodded. “He wasn’t--” she paused and dropped her hands to her lap. “I didn’t see him often, I didn’t want to see him at all. But I remember one day, I needed something from the lab he worked in. There were several other people in the lab, young Unspeakables that I--anyway, they had hidden some of his tools around the lab and were--well, they were playing a game of keep away with him.” 

Harry nodded. It wasn’t surprising; he’d seen young Aurors play those kinds of games with Slytherin trainees. 

“I thought he deserved it,” she admitted to the table. “Not very nice of me.” 

Harry reached across the table and put a hand over hers. “I would have thought the same thing.” Harry might have thought something worse. 

“It doesn’t really matter because at that point Atkinson came into the room and summoned all of Malfoy’s things back and gave the others a real dressing down.” 

“Atkinson came to his defense?” 

Their waiter brought out the food, steaming and delicious smelling. Harry stomach rumbled, but instead of digging right in, Harry waited for Hermione to start speaking again. 

This might be his chance to learn Draco’s motivations. Or at least get a clue about them. 

Hermione picked up her fork again. “Well, I mean, Atkinson can be, well, an arse, but he isn’t some horrible person all the time, just when something gets between him and his research.” 

“You don’t like it when people get between you and your research.” Harry pointed out. “And you aren’t insanely rude all the time.” 

“Well, yes, but I have you and Ron and my parents and the Weasley’s. Atkinson doesn’t have any family, all he has is his work. And truthfully, he’s quite brilliant.” Hermione broke off a piece of naan. 

“I guess a lot of brilliant people are complete wankers.” Harry shrugged. It had taken him some time to admit it, but Dumbledore had been kind of a wanker. That didn’t make him less important to Harry, didn’t make him a less brilliant wizard, it didn’t make the choices he made wrong. It was just one more part of his personality. He reached for his own naan. 

“And his research,” Hermione sighed a little longingly. “I mean, I can’t talk about it, but there are a lot of people who would put up with a rude boss just to be involved in that kind of work. It’s going to completely change the way we think about magic.” 

“So he’s a popular arsehole then.” 

“That’s simplifying things quite a bit.” Hermione sighed. “What I’m saying is, I understand why people want to work with him even though he’s so unpleasant most of the time.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why Malfoy would want to steal something. In fact, if working with Atkinson is so prestigious, why would he work with Malfoy?” 

“I’ve seen some of the research that Malfoy was doing.” Hermione shrugged. “I’m sure a lot of people wanted him to work on their projects. He was first in his year.” 

“You were first in our year.” 

Hermione preened a little. “Well, obviously I would have been, if we'd attended that year.” 

So Hermione thought Malfoy was clever. Harry had seen praise for his work in the probation reports, but it was weightier to hear Hermione say it “I guess that explains Atkinson, but it doesn’t explain why Malfoy would steal something, especially as it seems like he could have made a career there after his community service.” Harry piled some more rice on his plate. 

Hermione gave Harry a small smile. “I wish I could help you, Harry. Malfoy--he seemed to like working with Atkinson.” 

They finished supper, and Harry went back to the office, in an effort to read the rest of the journal, but he spent most of that time thinking about Malfoy, about what it must have been like for him in the department. There were times at Hogwarts that Harry had been hated, most notably fourth year, but Harry had Hermione and Ron all those times. He’d never been alone or hated by absolutely everyone. What would it have been like if they weren’t there? 

Was that how it had been for Malfoy? If everyone hated him, and then one person showed the smallest bit of kindness, what did that do to a person? What would Harry have done in that situation? He’d loved going to Mrs. Figg’s house as a child because at least she hadn't hated him. What must it have been like to have the whole world hate you and only one kind person who wasn’t even that nice? 

And what would drive Malfoy to steal from that one person? 

It was late when he returned to the flat, and Malfoy was asleep on the sofa. He looked so at peace, innocent even, in sleep. And Harry stood there for several long moments and thought about innocence and abuse and how easy it would be for Harry to fall off that slope and murder Malfoy in his sleep. 

* 

Friday rolled around, and Harry was still wavering about bringing Malfoy to the pub. He dithered in front of the closet picking out a shirt while Malfoy washed the dishes from dinner. Eventually, Harry just grabbed the nearest clean shirt before going back out to the living room. 

Malfoy was standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up and washing dishes by hand. Today he was wearing the charcoal trousers again and a fitted black jumper, and again Harry was caught by the simple elegance juxtaposed with the dirty dishes. It seemed right, and Harry had the urge to press a kiss to the back of Malfoy’s neck. 

“Go to your party.” Malfoy dipped the soapy dish in the rinse water. 

Harry dithered for another moment, still caught in the urge to kiss Malfoy. The pub would be a nice escape from the flat, and it would be nice to see Gin and Hermione and Ron. But a part of him wanted to stay, to sit on the sofa next to Malfoy and put something stupid on the telly, to see where that might lead the evening. 

Malfoy turned and looked at him, eyes bright and mouth pressed into a thin line, as if he could just tell what Harry had been thinking about. “Go to your party. I’ll still be here when you get home.” 

A shiver ran through Harry. They hadn’t been--they’d had dinner, they’d been to the supermarket, there had been companionable moments in the evenings, but Malfoy had steadfastly stayed in the living room most nights, as if that night had cured his deranged wanderings. But Harry often caught himself thinking about it, or thinking about other things, like what it would be like to drape his arm over Malfoy’s shoulder while they sat on the sofa next to each other. What would he do, if Harry kissed the back of his neck while he worked in the kitchen or joined him in the shower in the morning? What would Malfoy do if Harry led him by the hand to the bedroom? 

He licked his lips. “I don’t mind staying.” 

“Go.” Malfoy nodded and picked up another dish. “I will definitely be here when you get home.” 

“Okay. But let me know if you need anything. It’s just the Leaky, I can dash home in a minute.” 

“Go, Potter, have a good time for the both of us.” 

And so Harry apparated out, appearing just outside the Leaky, which was lit up with Christmas decorations. It looked like half the department had arrived already, and Harry continued in his dithering outside the door for another minute. 

_Just go inside already. How can I live vicariously through you if you never go inside?_

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, but pushed open the door. Ron and Hermione were in a corner booth, while Ginny was getting a round of drinks from the bar. Maisie, Oliver, and a few other Aurors were playing billiards. Maisie waved when she saw Harry by the door, and Harry gave her a smile and a nod before heading over to Ron and Hermione. 

Ginny saw him sit down and got an extra pint before returning to the table. “Oy, I’m sitting in the corner.” Her mouth scowled, but her eyes laughed. “Too many people here I definitely don’t want to go home with.” 

Harry shook his head. “You could always just say no.” 

“I can scare them off for you!” Ron interjected, and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. 

Ginny crossed her arms and threatened, “I can drink that for you.” 

“Fine.” Harry slid out, and Ginny slid in. “Has the night been that bad already?” 

“Yes.” She glowered at the pint. “Why do your coworkers have the stunning ability to both hit on me and indicate that I should go home with you at the end of the night?” 

Harry laughed loudly. “I am pretty sure I am going home to Trevor tonight, and I don’t think you are invited,” he said. 

“Speaking of Trevor, why didn’t you bring him?” Ginny asked, waggling her eyebrows. 

“Trevor? I want to meet this Trevor,” Hermione added. She’d already had a few. 

“Don’t we all?” Ron smiled. 

“It’s not a big deal.” Harry took a big gulp of his pint. 

Ginny poked him in the ribs. “Let’s see, you have a boyfriend, and you don’t think it’s a big deal?” 

_Been telling your friends about me?_ Malfoy sounded pleased. 

“Shut up.” Harry buried his face in his pint. If this kept up, he was going to be very drunk very quickly. “He has to work tonight, but yeah, I wanted to bring him.” 

There was a resounding chorus of “Harry!” at the table, but no answer from Draco. And Harry ducked his head and gulped more of the ale. 

“Well, you’ll have to bring him to the Burrow. Mum will go over the moon.” Ron grinned. 

And Harry did too. “Yeah, okay, I’ll talk to him about it.” When had Draco gone from being that prick occupying a lot of space in his flat to a legitimate romantic possibility? When had Malfoy gone from Malfoy to Draco? 

The conversation shifted from there to Ginny’s upcoming match, and Harry was able to listen without making too many comments. Which was good, as he was experiencing some internal turmoil over having feelings for a suspect. And then some down right horror at the idea that it was not just a suspect but Malfoy. It was easier to lose himself in a conversation over Quidditch. The Harpies were going to play against the Cannon’s, and Ron was innately at war over who to support. 

“I’ll get the next round,” Harry offered and made his way to the bar. 

He was a little distracted and didn’t see Oliver lurking near the corner, but he certainly felt his grabby hands on his bicept while the bartender was pouring the ale. “Harry,” he exhaled wetly into Harry’s ear. 

“Oliver,” Harry leaned away, “What do you want?” 

Oliver ran a finger along Harry’s arm. “I should think that was obvious.” 

“Uh, yeah, but,” Harry stepped away. “Not gonna happen.” He took the drinks from the bartender and moved quickly back to the safety of the Weasley’s. He pretended not to notice how Oliver’s eyes followed him through the room. 

“Oliver is here?” Ginny asked when he set the drinks down. “What a git.” 

“Yep.” Harry nodded. 

“You’d think he’d get the hint and stay away,” Ron added. 

Hermione frowned and said slowly. “Well, he does work in Records, it’s not like he wasn’t invited.” 

“He’s just handsy.” Harry shuddered lightly. 

Ginny stood up on the bench. “Oy! Oliver! He’s got a boyfriend so piss off!” 

“Ginny!” Harry squeaked. Because if Harry had learned anything about Oliver in the last few months, it was that he didn’t back down from a challenge. 

Oliver stalked over to the table. “Yeah? And where is this boyfriend? I’ll believe it when I see it.” He reached under the table and squeezed Harry’s knee. A twitch started in Harry’s cheek, and he had to remind himself that this was a very public bar where it would be completely inappropriate to punch a coworker. And that Robards would definitely desk him for two weeks, and probably make him do that sensitivity training, and hand Draco’s case off to someone else. It took a lot to reign in that urge. 

“Excuse me. I believe you’ve got your hands all over something of mine.” 

The whole table turned around to see Trevor, and that painful knot that had been building inside Harry’s chest since Oliver’s first touch utterly dissipated. “Trevor.” 

Malfoy turned a brilliant smile on Harry and the rest of the bar dimmed in comparison. “Harry.” He leaned down and kissed Harry. 

His lips were soft and light, a tender lingering kiss that had Ginny whopping loudly enough for the whole bar to hear and Hermione grinned from ear to ear. And harry could feel that kiss warm him from the inside out. When Malfoy pulled back, Harry felt like he couldn’t breath and as if his chest had swelled up to three times its size. 

Harry said, “I wasn’t expecting you this evening.” 

“Yes, well, rushing fools and all that.” Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. “Can I sit here?” He asked, and Harry immediately made room for him on the bench. “Thanks.” 

And Harry tucked his arm up and over Malfoy’s shoulders like he had wanted to do all week, and Malfoy leaned in to him. Harry inhaled the scent of garlic still on his hands from dinner, and suddenly the whole night was bathed in a warm, garlicky glow. 

Oliver skulked off, muttering darkly, and the conversation turned to all things Trevor. “What do you do, Trevor?” 

“Oh, does that involve a lot of travel?” 

“Trevor, do you brew your own potions?” 

“What would you suggest as an alternative to unicorn blood?” 

“Play Quidditch, Trevor?” 

The last question led once again to a heated debate between Ron and Ginny over the upcoming match, and in the midst of the shouting, Malfoy whispered in Harry’s ear, “Want you.” 

“What?” Harry asked, a little dumbfounded, but Malfoy was nodding to something in the conversation, and his hand was trailing up Harry’s thigh, and Harry jerked violently. 

Reluctantly, Malfoy removed his hand, as everyone at the table turned to look at Harry. “Uh, sorry, I just, uh, need the toilet.” He looked at Malfoy who slid out of the seat. 

“Uh-huh,” Ginny leered at him. “The toilet. Well, you boys have fun!” She also got up. “I have an early practice tomorrow, so I’m calling it a night.” She stared pointedly at Harry. 

Hermione elbowed Ron until he stood up too. “We ought to get home too.” She slid out of the bench and everyone said their goodbyes as they walked towards the door. 

Malfoy slipped his hand in Harry’s rubbing his thumb along Harry’s knuckle. He clung a little closer, his touch seemingly hesitant. And once they were alone, Harry asked, “Are you alright?” 

Malfoy paused and scuffed his shoe. “I didn’t mean to insert myself in your life.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Those are your friends, and I-I haven’t the right to be--” he trailed off, looking for the right words, looking up at the overcast sky. “I’m not your boyfriend.” He didn’t say anything else, but Harry had been thinking it off and on all evening. 

“I’m glad you were there,” Harry said, not looking at him. “I--and not just because you scared away Oliver.” He also wasn’t quite sure about the right words. 

“Oh.” Malfoy did look at him then, and Harry could see his face underneath the disguise of Trevor, the earnest look in his eyes, and the want. 

Harry brought his hand up to Malfoy’s face, “Let’s go home.” He ran a thumb over Malfoy’s lower lips, and then kissed him slowly, deeply. Because not kissing him was like not breathing. Slipping his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth and languidly licking every bit of it. For several long minutes. He kissed Malfoy there on the street with no thought other than the warmth of him, the smoothness of him, the soft breathy noises. 

When he finally pulled back and rested his forehead against Malfoy’s, they were both breathless. “Let’s go home.” 

“Yes.” 

They could have apparated, but there was just something so nice about holding Malfoy’s hand and walking down the street, so they took the long way. Their steps fell in sync, and Malfoy kept rubbing his thumb against Harry’s hand. And even though they were outside, Harry’s world shrank down to the touch of Malfoy’s shoulder when it bumped against his, the soft feel of his skin in his hand, the lightness of his breath, the sound of their footfalls on the stairs and in the hall. 

And then they were inside the flat, and Malfoy was nibbling his way across Harry’s jaw, and Harry’s knees were giving out just a little bit as he licked the corner of Harry’s mouth. 

“Bedroom?” Malfoy whispered against his lips, and Harry nodded wordlessly. 

He didn’t let go of Malfoy’s hand, and pulled him towards the doorway where he stopped to look at Malfoy. There was something hungry in his expression, a fierceness that Harry didn’t often see. Something hot curled up from his groin setting the rest of him on fire, and Harry pinned him to the door frame with needy, demanding lips. His thigh pushed in between Malfoy’s legs, giving them both something to grind against. And they were both hard, Harry almost painfully so with the need to be inside Malfoy. 

“Bed,” Malfoy panted in Harry’s ear. “And lube.” 

They both stumbled towards the bed, Harry summoning lube at the same time, and then they were falling into the tangle of sheets. Pushing at buttons and pulling at sleeves and hems, mouths pressed hungrily against each new bit of skin until they were finally naked. 

And Harry was pushing up Malfoy’s knees, having somehow ended up on top, with one slick finger pushing into Malfoy’s hole when a brief wince crossed Malfoy’s face and everything stopped. 

“Don’t stop.” Malfoy wiggled his hips, but Harry held him down firm. 

“I’m not taking advantage of you.” 

“Please, give me another one.” 

Harry withdrew his finger. “No.” 

Malfoy’s fevered gaze focused suddenly on Harry. “I want this.” 

“I’m not going to take advantage of you.” Harry sat back on his heels, cock straining out between them, and Malfoy licked his lips at the sight of it. 

“You’re an idiot,” Malfoy said, sitting up. He took the lube and greased up two fingers and then pushed Harry down on the bed. 

Harry watched, stunned, as Malfoy reached underneath himself and sank both fingers inside, twisting and stretching, and then holding Harry down with one hand while he lined up Harry’s cock and pushed down. Harry watched himself disappear centimeter by centimeter into that hot, tight space that was Malfoy. And it struck him, in that slow, delicious moment, as a perfect metaphor for Malfoy, tight and difficult to access, but warm and all consuming once there. 

“Fuck,” Malfoy groaned when Harry finally bottomed out. He fixed his eyes on Harry. “Want you.” He rose up nearly all the way and then slowly sank down again causing Harry to gasp and moan. He grabbed at Malfoy’s hips and tried to thrust up, but Malfoy only stilled, pinning Harry with a fierce expression. “Want it so much.” 

“Draco!” Harry cried out when Draco did it again. “God, like that, please!” 

“Look at me,” Draco whispered, pulling up. “Look at me, Harry.” 

Harry opened his eyes. 

“God, I could ride your cock all night.” Up and down, Harry’s nails biting into his skin. “Feels so good, you inside me, hitting all the right places.” Up and down. Malfoy bit his lip, but kept his gaze steady. “Will you touch me?” 

And Harry scrambled to wrap his hand around Malfoy’s cock, sliding it up and down in time with Draco’s movements. “Fuck!” Harry groaned, neck straining. 

“Need it, Harry? Tell me you need me.” Draco sank down again. 

“Please!” Harry choked. “Please, Draco, please!” 

“Aren’t you a greedy thing,” Draco said, not changing the pace at all. “Couldn’t stand that guy’s hands on you. Wanted everyone to know your mine.” He moaned loudly, circling his hips. 

“I’m yours,” Harry cried out. 

In that, Draco finally seemed to lose his control, sliding up and down, riding Harry harder and faster. Both of them panting and gasping and no longer able to speak, but Draco’s eyes never left Harry’s, and Harry thought, just before an orgasm swamped him, that he might drown in those grey eyes and never regret it. 

And then Draco was coming too, spilling over onto Harry’s hand, crying out Harry’s name, thrusting himself down hard on Harry’s not yet softening cock. He collapsed down on Harry’s chest, curling up to fit neatly on top of Harry. 

When Harry could think again, after he had slipped out of Malfoy’s body, and Draco’s breathing had evened out, Harry thought about how slight he still was, how he could still count his ribs if he wanted. Harry curled both hands over Malfoy and rolled onto his side, keeping him close and safe. 

* 

Harry woke up Sunday morning with Draco between his legs and moments from coming. He tangled his hands in Draco’s hair, arched up as Draco swallowed down every bit of him, and came. 

When he looked down, Draco was smiling up at him like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Good Morning.” 

“Good Morning,” Harry smiled back. “You seemed pleased with yourself.” 

Draco disappeared underneath the blankets and popped back out at the end of the bed. “Maybe I’m just pleased with you.” 

Harry watched him walk naked through the bedroom, gathering up the clothes strewn about and putting them in the laundry. “I want you to come to the Burrow with me today.” 

Draco stilled for a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He dumped the last of the clothes and didn’t look at Harry. 

“I still want you to,” Harry got out of the bed and walked over to Malfoy, wrapped his arms around his waist, breathed in the scent of sweat and sex that lingered from last night. 

For a long moment Draco didn’t move, held himself rigid, but he didn’t push away. And Harry waited. He waited for the moment that Draco relaxed against him and gave in. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. It won’t be bad. It’ll be loud, and everyone will want to meet you, but there will be the kids and they’re plenty distracting. The attention won’t be on you for long.” Harry brushed his nose into the short hairs at the base of Malfoy’s neck. 

He still didn’t relax though. “Harry,” he said, pushing just slightly, but only to turn around and face Harry. “This,” he paused searching for the words. 

But Harry didn’t want to hear them. Malfoy could say any of a thousand things, but in that tone, with that expression, Harry knew he didn’t want to hear a single one. Somehow this thing between them had become important. It was going to end, would have to end, but not right now, not today. “Please.” He kissed Malfoy. “Please come with me.” 

And then Malfoy melted, leaned into him and breathed out a shaky, “Okay.” 

They took a shower together. Draco washed Harry’s hair, soaped up his body, rubbed his back, but when Harry tried to return the favor, Draco swatted his hands away with an irritable frown. He washed himself quickly, with utilitarian movements, and stepped out of the shower and away from Harry. 

Harry let him go, somehow understanding that Malfoy was going through something without any understanding of what he it was. Malfoy disappeared into the closet, closed the door behind him, and set about picking clothes in the dark. 

When he finally emerged, his emotions were more settled, and Harry was seated on the bed still wrapped in a towel. “Here.” Draco handed him a pile of clothes. 

They got dressed, and since there was still a little time until lunch at the Burrow, Harry suggested they go to the supermarket. It was still Draco’s favorite place to go, and he brightened at the suggestion. He was still a bit tetchy, frowning at the produce, scowling at the lack of fresh bread. But his mood seemed better by the time they made it to the till, and Draco made small talk with the cashier about the weather. 

There was something nice about the way Draco could talk to people, about the way he listened to their responses before making his own, the way he smiled openly. It wasn’t something Harry had known Draco could do, and it was something he had forgotten how to do. Seeing someone else with such an appreciation for those small interactions, it was a pleasure to watch. 

It was why Harry wanted to take him to the Burrow. He wanted to show Draco what it was like to be part of a big family, to interact with the chaos, to get sucked into it and whirl around and around until it spat you back out all covered in smiles. He just knew that Draco would love the experience. 

And when they arrived at the Burrow just after 1pm. Hugo and Rose were running through the yard with no less than five of their cousins. “Looks like everyone is here today,” Harry told Malfoy. “No one will look twice at you with this many kids running around and screaming.” 

Draco gripped Harry’s hand just a little tighter as they made their way to the kitchen door. “Harry!” Hermione cried from the table where she was assembling a salad. “And Trevor!” She shouted even louder, inspiring a thundering rush of feet stampeding into the kitchen. 

“Nice to meet you Trevor.” 

“So glad you guys could make it.” 

“Hear you’re the boyfriend. Seems like Harry’s made a good catch.” 

“Shit, Harry, can I take him home?” 

“Charlie! Language!” Molly cried out, and then put a hand on Draco’s arm. “Very nice to meet you, dear.” 

When she moved off, Draco put his own hand where Molly’s had been, and suddenly Harry realized it was his left arm. “Oy, not everybody at once.” Harry moved in, slipped his hand back into Draco’s. “Give the man a chance to breathe.” 

“Hello, I’m Arthur.” Arthur introduced himself, and then said to Harry, “Food’ll be ready soon. But maybe you should give Trevor a tour of the place.” 

“Let’s go,” Harry said to Draco, and pulled him through the crowd into the living room, which was just as full with Ginny and George and Percy all involved in some sort of argument. “Hello.” Harry gave them a wave and then pulled Draco through the front door just as Ginny recognized them. 

“Trevor!” She shouted, but they were already out the door. 

Draco clung to Harry’s arm and breathed deeply for a moment. 

“Alright?” Harry patted his hand. 

“Are they always like this?” 

“Mostly. It’ll die down a bit once they all get a chance to meet you, or if one of the kids gets hurt. They’re just excited to think I met someone is all.” Harry cringed, he’d wanted to say he’d just met someone, but it was Malfoy. Even if Harry was thinking of him as Draco now. 

Draco nodded solemnly. 

“So, you saw the kitchen, and the living room.” Harry walked them forward a little so they could see the whole of the outside of the house. “Up there are all the bedrooms.” He gestured upwards. “The outside is pretty nice. Bill and Fleur had their wedding here.” They began to walk around the yard, avoiding the happy squeals to the best of their abilities. 

Eventually, they came around the other side, where Arthur kept his workshop. And Draco paused to look at it. “What’s that?” He asked, cautiously stepping towards the decrepit double doors. 

“Uh, that’s Arthur’s,” Harry said. “He likes to work on some projects.” But Draco was already walking towards the doors and slipping inside. 

Harry came up behind him and they both surveyed the mess. Bits and pieces of electronics were scattered across the two tables as well as piled up on the floor. A rotary engine peeked out from underneath a dusty cloth. There were power tools and a miter saw that looked like they might be functional, and Harry could identify a full microwave and a television tucked into a corner. And, of course, there was the car. 

“It’s beautiful,” Draco whispered his voice so quiet that if they’d been anywhere else Harry wouldn’t have been able to hear him.. 

“What?” Harry said, completely confused. It was chaos, perhaps worse than inside the house, dusty and broken bits and bobs littered every surface. At best it could be considered old junk and Draco was calling it beautiful? Harry watched Draco walk through the space, his fingers trailing along the dusty counter, the rusted saw, the hood of the car which was covered with chips in the mud brown paint. 

“All glitter and gold. Swirling and dancing like snowflakes.” His voice was soft, not really talking to Harry, almost as if he wasn’t speaking at all. His hands moved through the air as if he were trying to catch falling snow only to have it melt in his hands. Draco stepped lightly through the mess, eyes bright and hands always moving--touching wafting through the air, caressing. Finally he tore his gaze away from the mess to Harry. His face was relaxed and sort of joyous, the way he’d looked with Harry fully seated inside him, pleased and sort of hungry but not in a hurry. “Do you want to see what I see?” 

“What do you see?” Harry asked. 

Draco licked his thumb and swiped it across Harry’s left eyelid. It took a moment to make sense of what must surely be chaos. Through Harry’s right eye, everything looked normal, a dirty tangled mess of broken bits and bobs good mostly for the rubbish bin or a portkey. But through his left, the car glowed with a glittery gold that radiated off of it, some parts brighter and pulsing, the gold twinkling across the surface and wafting into the air. It was beautiful. Harry closed one eye and then opened the other, going back and forth a few times. “Is this what you see all the time?” 

“Hm,” Draco smiled and ran his hand across the hood of the car. “This is particularly spectacular, the craftsmanship in the spells, the way it is integrated so perfectly. It’s not like a storm which swirls with chaos and potential. It’s like the moon, but the moon is more silver and soft, a wave that just washes over and over and over without retreating. This is so contained, so elegant.” 

Harry looked at Draco, at the way his long fingers rested just so on the car, as if caressing the magic. It was the way his fingers had traced swirls and whirls in the soap on Harry’s body that morning. And there was a look of reverence in his expression, wonder and amazement like when Ron had seen Hermione when they’d gotten married. 

Draco looked at Harry, a small smile that softened his face and tugged at Harry and he felt that same tightness in his chest. He wanted Draco to always look that way. 

As Harry blinked, the glitter and gold faded from his left eye, until all he was left with was the delirious looking Draco. “Lunch should be ready soon.” 

Reluctantly, Draco dragged his fingers and gaze away from the car to look at Harry. The smile remained. 

“What?” Draco glared, and then Harry clarified, “Not a question, just an exclamation.” 

“If you thought the car was impressive, you should see what I see when I look at you.” Draco grinned, running his fingers lightly over Harry’s skin. “You glow green, a vibrant, emerald green, more striking then your eyes, deeper, like I could fall in and float through an endless swath of green.” 

Harry gasped and Draco’s hands dipped underneath his shirt. His voice dipped low. “When you’re inside me, all that green flows out. I can feel it, warm and wet like dewy grass and humidity. I can swallow it down and it’s like warmed wine, intoxicating and heavy in my mouth. For hours after, I can see your magic on me, like a grass stain.” 

Harry swallowed hard as Draco’s hands dipped down the front of his pants, the tips of his fingers teasing the head of his cock. 

“Harry! Trevor!” Ron was calling, and Draco was stepping away from Harry, and Harry was trying to remember how to breathe. “Lunch is ready!” 

Draco pulled his fingers away, the nails trailing along Harry’s stomach. He moved so slowly, even more slowly then he had when leaving the car, and the reluctance was palpable. 

Harry reached down and took his hand with a shaky breath. He brought it up to his lips and sucked the tip of one into his mouth. 

“Trevor! Harry!” Ron was getting closer. 

“Harry.” Draco exhaled. “I want.” His eyes grew wide and dark and he watched Harry suck that digit in and out of his mouth. “I want.” 

Harry popped off. “You want what?” 

And then Ron was at the door. “There you are. It’s time for lunch.” 

Draco leaned to the left to see Ron, his skin flushed but his voice calm. “Thank you, Ron. Come on, Harry. Lunch is ready.” 

And then they were walking back to the house, settling themselves at the table and joining in the conversation. Draco kept his hand on Harry’s knee the whole time, a warm presence that Harry wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort him or Draco. 

*

Harry woke in the middle of the night. Draco was whimpering into his pillow, not loudly, not enough to have woken Harry. But as Harry watched Draco shuddered and then clutched at his left arm. A nightmare. 

Gently, Harry shook him until Draco opened his eyes. “Harry,” he said. 

“You’re having a nightmare,” Harry said. 

Draco nodded and sat up, eyes carefully taking in the dark room. “Where am I?” 

“This is.” Harry swallowed. “This is my room, in my flat. Are you okay?” 

Draco pushed back the blankets and stood up. “Your room? So far from home.” He walked over to the door and ran his hand across the wood. His shoulders were tight, fingers shaking. 

“Are you okay?” Harry repeated. 

“So much darkness. What happened to the light?” Draco turned and carefully scanned the room. 

“I can turn the light on. Or, you can go out onto the balcony, if you want, if you think that might help.” Harry’s mouth was dry. 

“Help?” Draco’s laugh was brittle. “No one would help me. No one can help me.” 

“I would, I can. Tell me what’s wrong, Draco.” 

He held onto his left arm, and leaned back until his head thumped against the door. “Don’t you know. I am. I am wrong.” Draco heaved like he might sick up all over the floor, but merely collapsed on the floor. 

Harry leapt out of bed, fear lending him speed. “Don’t touch me!” Draco cried, scooting backwards to slam painfully into the door. 

Harry stopped. “Just tell me what you need. Please.” 

“Why am I here?” 

“Because I can help you,” Harry said. “Let me help you.” He took a step forward and then, when Draco didn’t object, another one until he crouched on the floor next to him. “It was just a nightmare. Let’s get some water, you’ll feel better.” 

Draco wasn’t looking at Harry, but over his shoulder. “It’s all a lie,” he said, but let Harry help him off the floor and into the kitchen. 

“There was a way out, another road to walk.” He was muttering, and Harry wasn’t sure what he was saying, if he was talking to Harry or himself or no one at all. Draco’s eyes were still dilated and flicking through the room, and Harry wasn’t sure what he was seeing. “Send out a raven. But the light, it’s so dim, a candle so far away.” Draco reached out as if to touch an actual candle. “It’s all twilight here. And the sun is setting and no way to know if the dawn will come again.” 

Harry grabbed Draco’s shoulders. “The dawn is coming. I am here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“Let?” Draco laughed again, harsh and angry. “And who’s to say I haven’t happened to you just as you happened to me?” He traced one of the long scars on his chest. “Cut open and bleeding out. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe that’s why I am the way I am. Practice for the main event. I am the broken road, torn up, damaged, a target meant for nothing more than a lonely death in a girls bathroom.” 

“Don’t say that!” Harry shouted. “You were a child in an impossible circumstance, put there by terrible people who wanted you to fail. And you didn’t! You survived.” 

“For what?” Draco shouted back. “For fire and more blood. For more pain and more death. At my hands!” He began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Better to have died at yours.” 

Harry wrapped both hands on Draco’s face, thumbs wiping the tears away. “No, those deaths weren’t your fault. And you can be better now. You can be better, you are better.” Harry stared Draco in the eye, willing his point across with the force of his stare. “Now, I am going to get you some water. Don’t move.” 

Harry took two steps away to open the cupboard for a glass. Two steps too far. When he turned to face the sink, glass in his hand, he could see Draco, with a knife slicing into his left arm, blood dripping onto the floor. And he drew the knife up his arm again. 

“Fuck!” Harry shouted, dropped the glass, and grabbed the hand holding the knife. “Accio wand!” He shouted, and the wand smacked into his hand, blood still dripping from Draco. “Episkey! Episkey!” 

“Better to bleed out here. Better than what he will do with me. Let me go, Harry.” Draco said, “Better not to breathe then to breathe the lie.” 

“Episkey! Episkey!” It wasn’t working, and Harry was growing more and more desperate by the moment. 

Draco fell forward, succumbing to the blood loss. “Let me go, Harry. Let me do this.” His eyes closed. “It’s peaceful, feels like grace.” 

And Harry scooped him up in his arms. “Grace!” And it didn’t matter that Harry was in his boxers and Malfoy in those horrible joggers that were probably falling off again, Harry was running into the hall and pounding on Grace’s door. “Grace! Grace! Grace!” 

She, of course, was fully dressed when she answered the door. “Harry? Shit. Come in.” 

Harry hurried through the door. “Lay him on the sofa,” Grace said while grabbing something off a bookshelf. “Thanks.” She pushed Harry back and inspected the wounds on Draco’s arms. “What happened?” 

“Uh, he was having a nightmare. I took him into the kitchen for some water, and when I turned back around he’d done that with a kitchen knife.” 

“He needs stitches, and a tetanus shot and maybe some antibiotics.” She pulled out a needle and thread, iodine, hand sanitizer and gloves. Harry’s vision was starting to go a bit grey at the edges, and he seemed caught in reliving that moment, in turning around and seeing the blood. 

“Talk to me, Harry,” Grace said, washing her hands and putting on the gloves. “What was the dream?” She could see he was slipping into panic. 

“Um, I don’t really know. He wasn’t making a lot of sense.” 

“What did he say?” Grace rubbed the wound with the iodine and threaded her needle. 

“He didn’t know where he was when he woke up, and he kept talking about blood and darkness.” Harry watched her push the needle into Draco’s arm, and Draco groaned. 

“Hold him down please,” Grace said. “Keep talking, Harry.” 

“Uh, he said he was wrong. I didn’t understand it. He talked about stuff that happened a long time ago.” 

“What happened a long time ago.” It wasn’t a question. 

“He, um, there was a fight in a bathroom at school. It’s how he got those long scars on his chest. He was talking about that. About how he should have died that day.” 

Grace nodded and moved on to the second cut. It wasn’t quite as long or deep. “Does Draco have depression?” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so.” 

“This looks like a cry for help to me,” Grace said softly. 

“Yeah, he, he’s got some problems, and maybe depression too, but I don’t--this didn’t seem like that to me.” 

“Are you sure?” She finished up the second set and reached into her bag for gauze to bandage Draco’s arm. 

“No. I don’t know how to help him.” That’s what he thought he been doing, in talking to Draco, in taking him to the kitchen, but that hadn’t helped at all. It had made things worse. Bad things had happened to Draco, things that maybe couldn’t be fixed. “I don’t know if he can be helped.” 

Grace turned and stared at Harry. “Everyone can be helped.” 

Draco stirred on the sofa. “Grace.” 

She turned back to him. “Draco. What happened?” 

“A nightmare.” Draco locked eyes with Harry and said before anyone could ask another question. “It was him.” He sat up and looked out towards Grace’s balcony. “I need help.” 

“We can talk to Hermione tomorrow. I am sure she can help.” Harry took Draco’s hand. “We’ll figure it out. I promise, we can fix this.” 

Grace looked over at Harry and then back at Draco. “Draco, I can put you in touch with some people at the hospital too. They have an inpatient program and an outpatient one. They’re both very good programs.” 

Draco pulled his hand away from Harry. “I know someplace I can go. There’s a place. I didn’t go before. I thought they couldn’t help me, but I see now. I know, I know what I need.” 

“I don’t want you to go.” Harry took Draco’s hand again, tugged until Draco looked at him. “You came to me for a reason. I know I can help you. Let’s talk to Hermione.” 

Draco touched Harry’s face. “I’m dangerous. I wasn’t there, Harry. I went after myself this time, but it could have been different. I was there, I could have done it again. Don’t you understand?” 

“No. No, I don’t.” 

“In that bathroom, you did this.” Draco touched his chest. “But I tried to do much worse. And I could have tonight. I could have and you couldn’t have stopped me. You wouldn’t have.” Draco reached back to Harry. “I know a place. I’ll be safe there. I’ll be better.” He was soft, like in the morning, with gentle hands on Harry, a soft caress, loose limbed and easy kisses. 

And Harry wanted nothing more than to tuck Draco into bed next to him, to curl his body around Draco’s to hold him close, protect him, to push out the world and make everything small and safe. “Come back to the flat with me, come to bed. We can talk about this in the morning. Please.” 

Draco nodded. “Okay.”


	8. chapter 8

When Harry woke in the morning, Draco was not in the bed. He was not in the closet or the kitchen or the bathroom. With a growing sense of panic, Harry scrambled, tossing papers, rifling through clothes, searching for a note, but he didn’t find anything. Draco was just gone. 

For several moments, Harry stood in the middle of his flat thinking through all of the places that Draco might have gone. But, the reality was that he could have gone anywhere. He’d broken through the security at the Department of Mysteries, he’d broken into Harry’s flat. And it wasn’t like Draco hadn’t disappeared before. He could be off trying to thwart some evil plan of Atkinson’s. Or he could have gone to the safe place he talked about, but he’d come back. 

Harry comforted himself with that thought--with that reality, Draco would be back. But he kept thinking of Draco’s face as he’d begged Harry to let him go, of the fear and desperation in his voice, the way he’d rambled about blood and darkness and pain. But maybe he was right, maybe he needed to let Draco go so that Draco could find what he needed? 

He was uneasy as he got dressed and went into the office where he encountered organized chaos. “What’s going on?” He asked the first person to stop, Oliver. 

“Potions ring bust. All hands on deck.” 

“Alright everybody,” Robards shouted over the din. “It’s a warehouse stuffed full of merlin knows what, and we’re going in as teams of two. Potter, Simmons, Fredricks, and Weasley you’re the front line, stunning spells only. Simmons, try to avoid getting doused in something this time. Kenton and Smith, you are back up. Walker, Grey, and Cox are collecting evidence. I want this quick and clean, people.” 

Harry and Ron stepped in next to each other as everyone made their way to the apparation room, the only place outside of the Atrium where anyone could aparate out of the Ministry. There was a separate location for apparating in. 

“Partner up, people! Stick together and guard your backs. These guys move fast and hit hard. If you see green potions, and I’m talking healer green, send a patronus, that’s Unspeakable territory. Now let’s go.” Robards grabbed onto Cox and they were gone. 

Ron put a hand on Harry and they aparated to the warehouse. 

It was rundown, they usually were, with several high windows blown out. Harry could see a fire escape that lead all the way from the roof to the ground on the south side of the building, and all the windows on the ground floor were covered up with plywood. These guys were smarter than the last set of potioneers who’d spelled the windows. All that magic use made them easier to track and catch, but the muggle methods couldn’t be tracked by the department. 

“Might be boobie traps inside.” Harry pointed at the windows, and Ron nodded. 

Robards was pointing at pairs and pointing in directions. Harry and Ron were taking the south side, with the fire escape, which would be tricky to cover in a fight, but that was why Robards assigned them that door. Quickly, but quietly, Harry and Ron dashed over to the door. Harry made a point of checking each and every window that gave access to escape, and then they held the position for the signal. 

It wasn’t long before silver sparks went up, and the four of them took the building, Fredricks and SImmons from the Northern roof entrance, and Harry and Ron from the southern ground door, 

Inside the entire floor was one big cavernous room filled with putridge smoke that left a green haze over the cauldrons, shelves of ingredients, and broken detritus that littered the room. 

“Argh,” Ron groaned quietly. “We’re going to have to go through decontamination after this. Why can’t it ever be clean, you know, like Mungo? Or even like the dungeon at Hogwarts? What happened to clean criminals, you know?” 

“They’re either dirty and easy to catch or clean and you spend months combing through bills of sale.” Harry reminded him, voice just as soft. 

“But at least we do that in the conference room where it’s clean and there’s takeaway. Remember those tapas?” 

“I remember you complaining about how your arse was going to go flat from all the sitting and your eyes were going to stop seeing from the faded ink.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You want the door or you want to look over there?” 

“I’ll take the door, thank you very much.” Ron scowled. 

Harry moved forward towards the first row of cauldrons making sure to step carefully around the rubbish. He couldn’t see anyone through the smoke which also dampened the sound as both a blessing and a curse. Only one cauldron was bubbling something blue, and Harry moved a little farther forward, keeping Ron in sight. 

They kept moving forward in that slow, carefully way until there was a crash of breaking glass and a loud thump on creaky metal. Ron and Harry looked at each other and then Ron quickly apparated on to the fire escape. “Petrificus Totalus!” Ron shouted, and Harry heard the sound of a body hitting the staircase. 

For half a second he turned to help Ron, but then remembered he couldn’t leave the first floor empty. He kept the door in sight, but moved to inspect the books and potion ingredients on the shelves closest. Valerian roots and dried flowers, wormwood, some sort of pink brain in a jar of mucus, and several jars of shriveled up white beans. And a pile of black notebooks piled haphazardly on top of each other. 

And then Harry heard the muffled shuffling that came from somewhere to the right. He ducked down slightly, and waited and listened carefully for another hint. He almost missed the slight huff from behind him, and then the smoke lit up in a bright yellow. Harry hit the floor fast as the smoke burned up, he squeezed his eyes tight against the bright light. 

When he opened them again, it was to stare straight into the wide eyes of one of the perps who was not nearly as quick on the draw as Harry. “Petrificus Totalus,” Harry whispered, and his whole body snapped together. 

“Reducto!” Shouted the other, and Harry just barely rolled out of the way. 

He flicked his wand, “Petrificus Totalus!” and the second one clattered to the floor. 

Harry laid on the floor for a moment and breathed deeply. 

“All clear?” Simmons shouted from the inside stairs. 

“All clear.” Harry called back and then climbed back to standing. 

The four of them levitated the six brewers out the door, and Robards sent in Cox, Walker and Grey to begin sorting through the evidence. “Excellent work, excellent work.” Robards was clapping backs and nodding. “I want to get this place wrapped up quickly. Potter and Weasley, you’re in charge of booking these boys. Simmons and Fredricks, let’s get to that evidence.” 

It took three trips for Ron and Harry to get all six of the potioneers back to headquarters and into interrogation rooms. Miles and Garret were the pair in charge of this case and had the first potioneer, the youngest of the six crying in less than ten minutes. 

Garret shook her head as she shut the door, “Wow, that was easy. He gave up the supplier as soon as we stepped in the room.” 

“Seriously?” Ron asked. 

“We got suppliers, dealers, another brewing site. I’ve never seen someone give it up that quick.” She looked down the hall. “Robards still at the warehouse?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Guess I’ll tell Kingsley then.” And she was off to the DMLE Head. 

“Agh,” Ron groaned, “Guess I’ll send Hermione a memo. It’s going to be a late night.” 

It ended up being three days of chaos. Harry personally arrested eight different perps, dealers, brewers, and suppliers from two separate locations. They spent Tuesday processing and bagging all the evidence from the shop and the dealer’s greenhouse, and all of Wednesday was devoted to paperwork to the point that Harry didn’t think he’d be able to grip a quill. 

It wasn’t until late Thursday morning that Harry had enough energy to rub two thoughts together and remember that he needed to do something about the fact that Draco was still missing. 

Everyone was late into the office on Thursday, as was not unusual after such a large bust. Maise had three different cups (one to-go cup, one that said “Give me My Coffee and No one gets hurt, and one that was plain black) on her desk, and Harry wasn’t sure if she was drinking her coffee, or injecting it straight into her bloodstream since she’d been at her desk for less than forty minutes. Harry took his seat and alternated between looking at the folder of probation reports and the mark on his thumb when a memo from Robards appeared in his inbox. He read over the summons and then reported to Robards office. “Good morning, sir.” 

“Potter, thanks. I just wanted to let you know the Unspeakable case is closed.” 

“What?” Harry couldn’t have heard right. 

“Yep. Atkinson informed me Monday afternoon via memo that he had recovered his lost artifact and our services were no longer needed. I would have informed you earlier, obviously, but with all that chaos, I hadn’t even seen the memo until this morning.” 

“I don’t understand, sir.” And Harry really didn’t. Because Malfoy said he knew a safe place, that he was going to go to a safe place. How could Atkinson have found his artifact without finding Draco? And if Atkinson found Draco, it couldn’t have been safe. “Atkinson found Draco Malfoy?” 

“Here,” Robards rubbed his forehead. “Read the memo yourself.” 

Harry snatched the parchment and quickly read over the lines. I no longer require your assistance as I have recovered my lost artifact. Thank you for your cooperation. Rest assured my notes will reflect the aid your department has rendered me in this time of need. 

“What the fuck is this?” Harry demanded, going straight from disbelief to rage. 

Robards sighed. “And here I thought you would be glad not to have to deal with that prick any more.” 

Harry’s mouth gaped. “But I haven’t solved the case yet. There’s no information on how he stole the artifact, the Department could use that to revamp their security. If Malfoy was able to steal something, someone else can get in.” 

Robards shrugged and clasped his hands in front of him. “It’s still closed. I am sure you have lots of other work, and I expect a full report on this one from you.” Harry recognized a dismissal when he heard one, but he sat in the seat for a full minute. “Is there something else you need, Auror Potter?” 

“No sir,” Harry said and made himself stand and walk to the door. It was a shame Robards had to deliver the news so early in the morning, it completely ruined his concentration for the rest of the day. Had Malfoy given up the artifact? Why? Had Atkinson forced Draco back into the Department of Mysteries? Had he found his safe place? Had Draco gone willingly? Why had Draco insisted on that Vow only to completely abandon Harry? The fuck was his plan? Because if nothing else, Draco always had a plan. Or had he completely lost his mind, gone never to return again? 

Back at his desk, Harry flipped open the file of probation reports. There were five years of records in here, surely there was something, some hint, some clue hidden in five years worth of reports. He read through them, trying not to think, but to just absorb the information, let it fill his mind and put the pieces together without active thought. 

For the first year, Draco worked under the guidance of Unspeakable J (no information on the type of work), he lived in “provided housing” which was kept tidy (as was evidenced by the spells cast during that time per the tracker), he did not get along well with his coworkers and his attitude was repeatedly rated as poor. All this Harry knew. 

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Lucius had died in Azkaban that year, and the Manor torn down--that must have been upsetting for Draco although there was no mention of either in the probation reports. If Harry read between the lines, considered what little Draco had told him, it was easy to see how he might be lonely. 

Harry opened his eyes and moved into the reports of year two. That was the year Draco moved from being under the purview of Unspeakable J to Unspeakable A (Atkinson perhaps?), he still had appointments in the Auror department to review his behavior which seemed mostly the same. Perhaps fewer injuries, but overall the same number of negative interactions. Harry began a tally of them. 32 negative interactions in the first years, 30 in the second. 

They were all starting to blur together a bit. Harry rubbed his eyes, and then went to the kitchen for a hot cup of tea. No one else was in the room, no one to distract him from the headache that was forming at the base of his skull. He looked at the posters on the wall and watched the steam rise from his cup as it steeped and tried very hard not to think. And then, Harry had a question. In the midst of reading the back of the box of tea bags he thought, when did Draco go crazy? He’d been working for the department for five years, but for the first three he met regularly with various Aurors for his probation. It would have been impossible to notice such a change in his behavior. Only in the last two years did those meetings stop, and then the reports were written entirely by Unspeakable A, which had to be Atkinson. 

Harry took his black tea back to his desk and sorted out the files while standing. Yes, one and a half years ago, Unspeakable A had taken over full responsibility for the probation. Harry had never heard of such a thing before, but then the Department of Mysteries often had exceptions that no one else would even dream of getting. 

Harry looked down at the form, at the strange letters that formed even stranger sentences giving one man near complete control over another. Some time in the last year and a half, Atkinson had stolen Draco’s magic. And really, wasn’t that motivation for theft? Revenge? One item taken as recompense for another? Harry fell into his chair. How had he not seen it before? 

But if it was straight forward revenge, why come to Harry? Why insist that Harry figure out what Draco stole? Why have that Vow? Those answers weren’t straight forward. 

It all came down to one question. What did Draco steal? 

* 

That night was the first night Harry dreamed of Draco. 

They laid in a grassy field, holding hands and looking up at a partly cloudy sky. The clouds were big and fluffy, the kind that cast large shadows across the ground. It was warm enough, and Harry thought it might be a nice day for flying. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, rolling on top of Harry. “I didn’t mean to leave like that.” 

“You shouldn’t have.” Harry reached up and ran his fingers lightly across Draco’s jaw. “You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

“I’m a danger.” Draco kissed the palm of his hand. 

“No, you’re not,” Harry said insistently. 

Draco sat up straight, bottom cradled comfortably against Harry. “You don’t understand. When I asked where I was, didn’t you wonder what I saw?” 

“No. You were having a nightmare and you just woke up confused.” Harry propped himself up on his elbows to look Draco in the eye. “You shouldn’t have left.” 

Draco huffed angrily. “A nightmare? You think that was a nightmare?” 

“You said it was a nightmare.” Harry sat up all the way, knocking Draco into the grass on his side. 

“Grace asked, therefore I lied. A memory, Potter, a living, breathing memory of pain and darkness and horrible, horrible things. He picked inside my brain and found something to use against me.” Draco laid on his side, staring at the blades of grass. “He picked the wrong memory this time, but what happens when he finds the right one.” His gaze flicked to Harry. “What happens when I try to kill you?” 

Harry yanked him up by the shirt. “You aren’t going to do that.” 

“Think you can stop me?” Draco smirked. “I stole from the department of Mysteries. I broke into your flat like it didn’t even have wards, and I did without a wand. You have no idea what I am capable of.” 

“You’re not capable of that.” 

“Everyone is capable of that.” Draco lifted his chin defiantly. 

“Atkinson did that to you, he-he stole your magic, he-he forced you--” 

Draco brought his hand up to Harry’s face, ran his thumb gently over his cheekbones. “You can’t force the willing, Potter.” 

And Harry jerked back as if stung. “You wouldn’t--no one would let a monster like him do that.” 

“But he wasn’t a monster to me, was he?” Draco spat back. “He gave me a home when I didn’t have one, he gave me food when I was hungry, gave me kindness and attention.” He smiled viciously. “Like you.” 

“I wouldn’t ever!” Harry shouted, shoving Draco back. “How dare you compare me to him! I would never ever steal someone’s magic. I wouldn’t--” But there was a voice in the back of his mind, he made Dumbledore drink all that poison, hadn’t he? He’d slept with a suspect in an investigation, hadn’t he? Maybe he hadn’t been as awful as Atkinson, but that didn’t make him innocent either. “I never wanted to hurt you,” Harry said at last. 

“You didn’t,” Draco sat up and took Harry’s hand. “That’s what I’m saying, you didn’t do anything I didn’t want. And he didn’t either.” 

Harry pulled up the bottom of Draco’s shirt. “You can’t tell me you wanted this.” His fingers traced across all those tiny scars. 

Draco closed his eyes. “I wanted to do something good, something that would protect people. Just because I didn’t know what he would do, just because I didn’t understand the consequences, doesn’t mean I didn’t want it.” 

“You let him?” Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips along the same path as his fingers. “You let him.” 

“I told you, you can’t steal magic. But I didn’t know that it would be gone, that I would be gone.” 

Harry woke up to the feeling of drops on his face and a whole new horrible feeling. 

* 

That was the day Harry went to arrest Dr. Conners. His insides were all torn up and confused and it felt good to arrest someone, to pour his own frustration into something productive. So first thing in the morning, Harry apparated to Dr. Conners office, and was waiting when he arrived at 9am, cup of canteen tea in one hand. 

“Mr. Potter, to what do I do the honor?” He asked while digging in a pocket for his office key. 

“I think you know why I’m here.” Harry replied, voice like ice. 

He stopped rummaging and stood up straight. “I’m afraid I don’t. You‘ll need to be a little more specific.” 

“I’m here because you murdered Marie Culpeper.” Harry took the handcuffs out of his own pocket and held them out for Dr. Conners to see. 

“I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.” He held up both hands in a show of innocence. 

Harry ignored him, “You do not have to say anything at this time, but it may harm your defense if you fail to mention something when questioned that you later use in court.” Dr. Conners reached for his wand, but Harry was faster on the draw and not encumbered by mediocre tea. “Please, try me. It’s been a difficult week, and I have just the spell for someone resisting arrest.” 

“Alright.” Dr. Conners put his hands back up, the empty one over his head. “I’m going to put my cup down now, if you don’t mind.” He knelt slowly, put the cup on the floor next the the wall slowly, and then stood slowly. 

“Hands please.” Harry gestured, and Dr. Conners held them out. Normally the click of cuffs on the perpetrator was a calming noise, but this time it did nothing to calm Harry. “Do you have any questions?” 

Dr. Conners shook his head no, and Harry wrapped a hand around his arm, sidealong him to an interrogation room in the Auror department. Later Robards congratulated Harry on 

closing another case, and Harry felt nothing but a sort of numbness that seemed to stem from his stomach. 

* 

It was strange to be alone in the flat every night. At some point Harry had gotten used to coming home to Draco, to the smell of food cooking, to the lack of laundry in the hamper, to company at the supermarket. He missed the noises of Draco in the shower in the morning, of him washing dishes in the evening, of him flipping through channels on the telly to find some cooking show or documentary. 

The volcano show aired again, and Harry watched just because. He ate take out every night because he couldn’t bring himself to go into the small kitchen, even if it was just to put away the dishes Draco had washed the night before he disappeared. The first Saturday Draco was gone, Harry saw Grace in the laundry room. 

She asked about Draco. “Is everything okay? I know he didn’t check into either of the hospital’s programs, but I haven’t seen him in the building either.” 

“No.” Harry paused in throwing clothes in the dryer. “I think he went to that other place. He didn’t want to talk to my friend.” 

Grace nodded. “Have you heard from him?” 

“No,” Harry sighed. 

Grace nodded hesitantly. “Sometimes, those inpatient programs don’t encourage new patients to contact people for a few weeks, I’m sure he’ll get in touch just as soon as he can.” 

“Yeah.” Harry shut the dryer and started it. “I hope so.” 

* 

He dreamed about Draco in the supermarket. 

They were holding hands, and Harry had the basket while Draco considered the breakfast cereals. “He needed you to tell him where you hid what you stole.” 

“I don’t want to talk about Atkinson right now.” Draco scowled and took several steps down the aisle. “What do you think about trying a new tea?” 

“I like English Breakfast,” Harry said, trying to decide if he should bring it up again. “I miss you,” he said instead. 

Draco stopped in front of the tea display. “I shouldn’t be here. He’s going to find you, and it will be my fault.” 

Harry reached out and grabbed his arm tightly. “Don’t you dare disappear on me again.” 

Draco put his hand over Harry’s. “I missed you too. Can’t seem to stay away for very long, can I?” He looked down the aisle at nothing. “I haven’t much time, he’ll be back soon. How do you feel about crepes for breakfast? I’ve missed them almost as much as you.” 

“Crepes sound good.” Harry slid his hand down Draco’s arm to his hand. “With berries and powdered sugar?” 

“And whipped cream.” Draco’s face lit up in a sudden, wicked smile. “And we could have breakfast in bed. 

When Harry woke up he picked up his list of facts and wrote: Malfoy with Atkinson again. Because even if Draco was gone and Robards had closed the case, Harry hadn't solved it. 

* 

Eventually Harry decided to go over to Grimmauld Place just to get away from the flat. The place had fallen into disrepair since he’d moved out, and Harry rather thought it would make for a good challenge. The hard work also helped him fall asleep at night instead of laying on his back listening for sounds in the other room. He started in the parlour, with the tapestry, because it seemed like the right place to start. He took down curtains and crumbling wallpaper, repaired broken furniture, and threw out distasteful nicknacks. He didn’t buy new things, didn’t paint or put down new rugs. When he’d bought the flat with Ginny, they’d filled it with things for them. Grimmauld Place seemed different. It was Harry’s, but, as he cleaned and repaired and removed, he also remembered that Draco’s mother had been a Black, and that maybe this place should be Draco’s too. If he wanted it. It felt strange, as if Draco were both present and gone from his life at the same time. As if Harry, in finally trying to make a place for Draco in his life, was coming to the realization that he, Harry, had a life to live. The war had been hard, and, slowly, bit by bit, he’d fallen into lazy habits. He went to work, ate takeaway, and watched telly in a Muggle flat. It had taken an old enemy-turned-something-else to pull Harry back into the world. 

* 

Saturday, Ginny came by Grimmauld Place. Harry was in the kitchen making a snack and thinking about Greg and Millie’s wedding tomorrow when she appeared in the fireplace. 

“Hey Harry, I’ve been looking for you,” she said, dusting herself off and taking a seat at the kitchen table. “What are you doing here?” 

Harry looked around at the recently scrubbed cabinets. “I’ve, uh, been thinking about moving back in. Or maybe renting it out?” 

“Really?” She plopped her chin in her hand and stared. “What brought this on?” 

Harry shrugged, it seemed to be his expression of choice lately. “I don’t know. It seemed like the right thing to do.” 

“What does Trevor think about it?” 

She had to jump right in, didn’t she? Harry let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a while.” Unless he wanted to count those dreams, but last night, there hadn’t been a lot of talking. There’d been a lot of noises, but most of them not words. 

“Why not?” 

“He’s been busy with work.” Harry turned back to the sink to wash his dishes the muggle way, because now when he did dishes he always did them that way. 

“Did you guys have a fight?” Ginny asked after a moment of silence. 

“No.” Harry turned around. She was looking at him straight, not with pity, not with confusion. Maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just love. And that was what broke Harry. “I just woke up and he was gone. I think it’s a work thing, I really do. He told me before he pretty much lived at the office. Didn’t take time off or anything.” Harry walked over to the table and sat down. “But I’m worried about him. It wasn’t a good situation for him, work.” 

Ginny nodded like she understood. “It’s hard to watch someone you love close themselves off to the world.” She reached out and put a hand on Harry’s. 

“Is that what I did?” Harry asked. “Is that why we ended?” 

Ginny nodded and licked her lips. “Just after the war it was like you were so full of life, you were so passionate and loving and just full. But then it was like that slowly drained out of you, and it was hard for all of us to watch. When we saw you with Trevor, it was sort of like the light came back into your eyes. You looked so happy.” 

“I didn’t mean to pull away from everyone.” 

“I know. And we’re just worried now, with Trevor being gone, that you're going to pull away from us again.” 

Harry turned his hand over and looked at the silver line. “I wasn’t very good to Trevor.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, he didn’t even have his own clothes at my place. I was always making him wear my old stuff. And, I didn’t take him out very often. There was so much we could have done, that I know he would have liked to do. Like this wedding tomorrow. I know he would have wanted to go.” 

“Is that why you’re going? Because he can’t?” 

“Maybe,” Harry sighed. “Just really wish I could take him. And I’m going to go, even if he can’t.” 

Ginny nodded. “If that’s how you feel, then I’m really glad you met Trevor. Even if he was an enormous prick who just up and ditched you in the middle of the night.” Harry laughed. 

* 

Harry arrived at the wedding reception late on Sunday. There had been some trouble with his portkey and then he’d had to go back as he’d left his present for the newly weds on his kitchen counter. Harry didn’t really mind. 

He left his present on a table decorated with a small tree and went to find a place to sit. Pansy waved at him from her table with Blaise. “You didn’t find him?” she asked sadly when Harry sat down. 

Harry shook his head. It had been bad enough to have everyone asking what happened to Trevor, Harry hadn’t even thought about what he would say to Draco’s old friends. “There seems to be no trace of him since he was sentenced to probation.” He frowned. “And now the case has been closed without resolution.” 

Pansy and Blaise both nodded. “We didn’t hold out much hope,” Blaise said. “Who wants to find an old Death Eater for any reason that’s good?” He scowled. 

“I did,” Harry told him. “Nobody drops off the face of the Earth for five years for good reasons. I think he’s in trouble.” 

“That’s even worse,” Pansy said. “We’re at a wedding and you’re full of bad news. Can’t you tell us something happy? 

Harry touched his thumb. “He cares about you, a lot. It’s why he didn’t write or visit or any of that. He didn’t want you to get mixed up in what he was in. He was protecting you.” 

Pansy started to cry, and Blaise leaned over and put his arm around her. “Great, now I’m going to ruin my make-up.” She sniffed. 

“Maybe I should go.” Harry made to stand up. 

But Blaise shot him a withering glare, and Harry wondered if Draco had learned it from Blaise or the other way around. “Stay. You’re as close to him as we’re going to get. And besides I know MIllie and Greg will want to say hello.” 

“Wine?” Pansy gestured to the bottle on the table. 

“Thank you.” Harry poured himself a glass. “How are things with you?” He asked, and Pansy told him about her fashion designs and Blaise talked about his two daughters. They stayed on safe topics, and Harry asked about Millie and Goyle. And it was a pleasant hour. 

When Millie and Greg made their way over to Harry’s table, Greg gave everyone a hug, and Mille asked, “No word from him?” 

“I know he wanted to be here.” Harry said, “And I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him.” 

“Well, one of those master plans of his must have finally gone right, to have pulled one over on the Savior.” Greg smiled. No one pointed out that it was more likely Draco had gotten himself into bigger trouble than Harry could solve. 

Harry danced with Pansy who delighted in the number of times she stepped on Harry’s toes. Privately Harry thought it was mostly accidental, but Pansy seemed to enjoy her deception. He danced a waltz with Blaise and listened to Blaise call him deplorable and insist Harry come to his vow renewal with his wife. And then he danced with Greg who beamed and insisted someone take lots of pictures so that he could prove to all his coworkers he knew the Chosen One. Harry even offered to sign them after they were developed and made sure to write his address down. 

He stayed until the very end, and took two packets of sugared almonds home. 

* 

Atkinson came to visit him Tuesday morning of week four. Harry hadn’t counted the weeks Draco had lived with him, but he very much noticed each Monday without him. He was at his desk wondering just why he had become an Auror when so much of the job seemed to involve endless paperwork and reports, when the whole room went silent the way it only does when something truly strange was happening. Like an Unspeakable making his way to Harry’s desk, robes fluttering impressively. Briefly, Harry was reminded of the way Snape used to storm down corridors and hallways, large and imposing, and those black robes billowing out behind him like an incoming tsunami. 

Atkinson took the room in the same storm, and Harry barely had time to turn in his seat nevermind stand before Atkinson was on him. “Something I can help you with?” Harry refused to add sir. 

Atkinson smiled at him, and Harry realized he had sort of a nice face. Eyes with crinkles that made him look like he knew how to laugh, a double dimple on the left side, wide lips that looked as if they could laugh loudly. It was hard to see how fit he might be, underneath all those menacing robes, but Harry got a first hand look at just how Draco might have fancied himself in love with this man. “Good morning, Harry. I just wanted to thank you for all your assistance in recovering my artifact.” 

Harry waved his hand and refused to feel pleased at the compliment. “I heard you managed to recover it all on your own, that I didn’t do much.” 

“I know I can be an unpleasant man, demanding and difficult to work with.” Atkinson tried again. “I was impressed at how you held your own against me, and how despite our differences, we were able to work together.” 

Had he completely forgotten Voldemort and that whole tiff with pretty much the entire Ministry? Harry had held his own against far more imposing forces then one annoying Unspeakable. “Just doing my job.” Or, rather, not doing it. 

“I’d like to work together again sometime,” Atkinson practically purred in Harry’s ear. “I have a particular project that I think you would be wonderfully perfect for.” 

Harry’s teeth practically squeaked from grinding them so hard. “As interesting as that sounds, I am very fond of my position here.” 

“I could talk to Robards, I’m sure he could spare you for a few days. It wouldn’t be more than that.” 

Something else was going on here. “Why are you here, Atkinson?” Harry went straight for the question. 

“To thank you. I’d thought that was obvious.” So, definitely ulterior motives. “Perhaps you’d like to have coffee in my office some time, being as you aren’t a tea person.” 

This was the point in the conversation when Harry really wished Draco would say something, anything. He longed to have Draco’s voice in his ear, offering up carefully worded non-questions or shouting about not drinking the tea or Merlin help him even just sighing in resignation. 

Of course, the last time Harry had felt this overwhelming need to get away from a co-worker, Draco had showed up at the bar. Harry quickly glanced around for any sign of him, but nothing. 

“Consider my offer.” Atkinson clasped him on the shoulder and horror flooded through Harry at the intimate contact. “Could do wonderful things for your career.” And then he was leaving, billowing his way out of the room, and Harry was breathing and trying to remember how to deal with a panic attack. 

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose and focused on the air coming in, he held it for a count of five and focused on the way his chest expanded, and then he let it go and felt the emptiness in his lungs and the rushing of the air between his teeth. It helped, and he repeated those same steps until he felt more in control. It had been a very long time since he’d had a panic attack. 

Where was Draco? Harry slowly ran his thumb over the marks Draco had left on his hand. What was he supposed to do now? 

Once home that evening, Harry went out on the balcony. He didn’t normally spend much time out here, but Draco had, and Harry missed him. Wondering if he had gone some place else, like maybe New Zealand or if Atkinson had somehow convinced him to come back. And really, the wondering was just a placeholder for worrying. 

Harry rubbed his thumb; he’d been doing it all day. Draco had said Harry would always be able to find him, and if Harry thought about it, he could still feel that line of connection between them. Blood magic was all about intent, and what exactly did Harry intend to do? He wanted to save Draco, wanted to drag him home and force feed him high calorie foods until he stopped looking starved. He hung his head over the balcony rail. 

“Hey, stranger,” Grace said, stepping out onto her balcony. “Long time no see.” 

Harry straightened up. “How have you been?” 

She shrugged. “Fine, want to come over for dinner? I made too much again.” 

“Okay,” Harry agreed before even thinking about it. It was Grace after all. He met her at her flat door, and looked around at the living room when she let him in. He hadn’t really looked at it the one time he’d been in here before. It was the mirror image of his flat, and hers looked strangely familiar, glass table instead of wood, but in the same place. She had a small telly on an entertainment center with stacks of blu-rays piled on the floor. A plain black leather sofa and red print chair tilted a little, but still in the same vicinity. And she had piles of books on mismatched bookcases lining the walls. “I think you’d feel just as at home in my place.” 

Grace laughed. “Yep, probably. Draco showed it to me once. Weird how we could live so close to each other, be so similar and not meet for so long.” 

“Uh-huh,” Harry nodded and took a seat at the table. She set out plates and pulled beef stew off the stove. “Aren’t you working nights?” 

“Yep,” She heaped her bowl full and handed Harry the spoon. “I try to keep the same hours though on my days off. Makes it easier.” 

Harry nodded and served himself. 

“So, did you hear from Draco? Is everything okay?” She asked, and Harry was suddenly reminded of the difference between her and everyone else who asked about Trevor. 

Harry shrugged. “No. I haven’t.” 

She nodded slowly. “Have you looked for him?” 

“I don’t know if he wants me to,” Harry fudged and pushed his fork through the vegetables. “He always was pretty secretive about his past.” 

Grace laughed. “Yes, he was.” Her smile quickly faded away. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you why I became a nurse.” She abruptly changed the subject. 

“No, I don’t think you have,” Harry said, suddenly understanding that she was about to tell him something very important about herself. 

“I had a-well, the nice way to say it is a sheltered childhood. Grew up in a rural town in Ohio, went to church every Sunday, did well in school, I had a promise ring.” She pushed her food around absently. “I was the good child, and my older brother was the rebel.” 

“You have a brother?” Harry said in the heavy silence. 

Grace pushed her plate away. “Yeah, I don’t talk about him much. My parents were always upset with him, always fighting. He’d stay out late, they didn’t like his friends. He dropped out of college, and they hated that. It took me a long time to find out the truth. No one would tell me, even he wouldn’t talk to me about it. Draco reminds me of him.” 

Harry put down his fork. “What do you mean?” 

“The last night I saw my brother, he came into my room while I was studying. He was smiling, but not a happy smile, more like, a loving one. He told me how much he loved me, and he said he was really sorry, and he said a bunch of other things I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand him a lot; I think most people didn’t.” She sighed. “I became a nurse to help people like my brother. I think that’s probably why you got into policing, to help people who can’t help themselves.” 

“What do you know about Draco?” Harry asked, a vice on his stomach. 

“Not much. It’s what I know about my brother. See, I know something bad happened to him in high school, and he got into drugs. When he quit school my parents kicked him out. Eventually I learned that he moved in with his boyfriend, and then he died, overdosed. My parents refused to talk about it, they wouldn’t even tell me what happened. I had to figure it out for myself.” She shrugged. “Now I don’t talk to my parents much anymore.” 

“What does this have to do with Draco?” 

“I think, when he came into my room that night, with that sad loving smile, that he was asking for help, except he didn’t know how to ask and I didn’t know how to hear. Draco always reminds me of that moment. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled at doing stupid things like laundry. Who likes doing laundry?” Harry’s breath caught in his throat. 

“I wish someone had looked for my brother. I wish there had been someone, even a stranger who could have looked at him and said, I can help. Draco told me he had a bad ex, someone from work who convinced him to do things, I assume bad things. If he came to you for help, maybe he didn’t know how to ask, and maybe you don’t know how to hear. I’m worried, since he’s gone, that he’s gotten sucked into that again and he may not come out the other side.” She was crying and wiped at her eyes. 

And Harry realized his own eyes were damp, and looked away from her blinked rapidly. “He does have a bad ex, who convinced him to do something that hurt him very badly. And I, 

I was working with his ex. And, I think you’re right.” Harry bit his lip. “I don’t know how to find him.” 

Grace reached across the table and put her hand over his. “I want to help. What can I do to help?” 

“I think I’m the only one who can find him.” Harry rubbed his thumb and began to plan.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, we've reached the end. I hope you have enjoyed the story, and that it has lived up to your expectations. I have enjoyed writing it and reading all of your comments. You guys have made this experience more then worthwhile. I wanted to take a quick moment to let you know that I have an Inception fic that I will be posting next (all finished and beta'd). If you haven't seen Inception, you really ought to check it out, it's got some impressive special effects that still look good today, and the plot is very engaging. And bonus points, the fandom is lots of fun. I also have an almost finished Harry/Draco fic (just one to two chapters left to write and then a beta). I have to warn you though, that story could be a bit in the making as my beta is a very busy person. But, just to let you know what I've got coming up.  
> Thanks so much to everyone, all my love!

Harry didn’t sleep that night, choosing instead to sit at the kitchen table with the balcony door open thinking. He went over all his notes, the probation reports, the reports he made for Robards, the list of facts that didn’t even come close to summing up the reality of Draco. And then he made more, primarily a time line and a series of theories. First off, Malfoy did not have a wand, and he didn’t seem to be limited by those magical constraints. He had demonstrated the ability to move objects, levitate, change his appearance, and create elaborate illusions all through blood magic, or what Harry assumed was blood magic. And he had created dozens of illusions spread out across London, he must have some way of traveling magically. It wasn’t an outrageous idea that he could use those abilities to steal something. 

The question was what, what was so important that Malfoy felt it necessary to keep from Atkinson? 

He reviewed everything he knew about the Department of Mysteries which was almost nothing and, at the same time, probably more than most people who weren’t Unspeakables. They kept truly impressive numbers of artefacts. He went into the office and spent the hours from five am until noon in records looking up Aktinson and any other Unspeakable he could find starting with the Js. Anything about the department he could get his hands on. There wasn’t much. He made notes on his own adventures in the department. 

Ron found him at lunch time. “Robards has been asking about you.” 

“Mmm,” Harry said, quill in his mouth, useless files spread all around him on the floor of the conference room. 

“What are you doing?” Ron squatted down on his heels to look. 

“Working a case.” Harry looked up and waved his hand turning the files from reading about Unspeakables to a blurry set of symbols. “Have you been in the Department of Mysteries lately?” He wanted to ask for Ron’s help. He wanted to confide in someone, an extra set of eyes that might see something he missed. And besides, Ron was married to Hermione, he might know something about the department. 

“Well, yeah, sometimes I have tea with ‘Mione.” Tea, fuck. That option was out. Maybe it was different tea, and maybe it wasn’t. That was a risk he couldn’t take. “Is there something I can do, mate?” Ron asked. 

Harry shook his head. “Just doing some cross referencing. I’ll let you know when I get to the exciting stuff.” 

He took a break for lunch around 2pm and then went back to his desk to plan. By the end of the day, he hadn’t come up with a single one that was actually workable. There was just too much he didn’t know. Where was Draco? Was Atkinson holding him somewhere or was he there willingly? Why had Atkison carved into Draco? Were there other Unspeakables working with him? Hermione said he was unpopular, but that didn’t mean he worked alone. What was the security like? It had been unpleasant before, surely it would be worse now. 

Everyone else cleared out of the office, and Harry sat alone at his desk. There really was nothing else for it. He had already left Draco with him for a month, and he wasn’t going to let one more night go by without doing something. Harry went over to the closet and got out a set of Seeing Eyes, Peruvian Darkness Powder, Extendable Ears, a box of Creepy Crawlies (because even if Atkinson wasn’t afraid of bugs, they could be quite distracting). There weren’t any protection hats, but then Harry had always been able to produce a decent shield charm, so it wasn’t a big deal. He put one of the Seeing Eyes on Ron’s desk, set to broadcast, because maybe he’d need a record, and put the other in his pocket still off. 

Then, standing in the middle of the Auror department, Harry wrapped his fingers around his thumb and thought of Draco. He thought of Draco standing by the glass in his apartment, thought of him laughing at the bar, thought of him that night in his bed slicking himself up. He thought of Draco showing him the car and the way the magic pooled like gold and glittered in the light. 

And then Harry felt it, the thin line stretched between him and Malfoy, red, like blood. In his mind, he reached out to touch it, felt it hum under his fingers. This was what Draco meant when he said Harry could always find him. Harry held the image of the thread and Draco together in his mind, he touched the line again, this time hoping it would pull him towards Draco. 

And it did. Intention and willpower. In one moment, Harry was standing in Auror headquarters and the next he popped into the Department of Mysteries. 

It was Atkinson’s lab, Harry could tell immediately. It had a clinical efficiency to the organization and lay out. There was a peg board hanging over a table with tools hung inside careful outlines. Bookshelves covered an entire wall with volumes and volumes of journals and books that all looked frighteningly similar. Harry was standing in the middle of a set of tables that smelled like antiseptic. And everything felt clinically cold. 

Except for the containment field at the other end which was filthy. There was a table and single chair not completely covered in horribleness, but Harry wasn’t sure the bed could ever be cleaned. And then it dawned on Harry, that Draco was confined inside the containment field. 

He’d seen that, Draco standing at the edge watching him while Harry took in the sight. But why would Draco be in there? Unless it was a blood magic thing, but why keep him from leaving the department? What had he stolen? It was a slow realization for Harry. He’d assumed an object, something magical, powerful, a weapon perhaps. And maybe he had taken a powerful weapon, one that just happened to be Draco. 

If the realization was slow to dawn, the horror was even slower. Harry just stood there and looked at Draco. He looked better then when Harry had first seen him two months ago, although he’d lost all the weight he gained. At least he had showered recently, not covered in grime like the bed, anyway. Streaks of dried blood marked his face and hands, although Harry could see him clearly. 

But Harry couldn’t hear him. His mouth was moving, screaming even, hands pounding against the barrier. Harry twisted to the left, and the curse flew over his shoulder and was absorbed by the barrier. Harry threw up a protection shield and hastily scanned the lab for Atkinson. “Where are you?” 

“I haven’t worked this hard to have you steal what’s mine!” Atkinson shouted from the left, behind one of the tables. 

Something cold clutched at Harry’s chest. “He is a person! Not an object for you to control.” 

“Wrong!” Atkinson cast again, and Harry activated the Seeing Eye. 

He let that cold feeling fill him up, force out the anger and leave behind a calm logic. “You won’t win this, Atkinson!” Harry cast an incarcerous which hit the table loudly, dropping vials and beakers on the floor. In the chaos he released the Creepy Crawlies. 

He was too exposed, in front of the barrier, but Harry didn’t want to just leave Draco. He looked around the room, cast a finite incantatem while Atkinson was distracted which did nothing, and then saw Draco screaming and hitting the barrier again. 

Harry felt the curse hit his back. He fell against the table, breath coming in short gasps as his lungs slowly filled with fluid. Draco was really screaming now, but there was a rushing in Harry’s ears. He slid down to the floor, no longer able to see much of anything unless it was right in front of him. The Seeing Eye rolled out of his pocket and underneath another table. 

“Well, all it took was one little visit and look what has fallen into my hands now,” Atkinson said. 

“Let him go,” Draco’s voice was tinny in the room, as if echoing through an amplification system that Harry couldn’t see. 

“Not a chance,” Atkinson leered happily over Harry, blocking his sight of anything else. Harry closed his eyes and thought of Draco so that Atkinson wouldn’t be the last thing he saw. 

“You have me, let him go. That was the agreement.” 

“That was before he fell so neatly into my lap, and you’ve been so reluctant.” He pointed his wand at a series of beakers, floating them forward and onto the table. “I’ve asked you to fill these several times, and yet there is no lightning.” 

Draco paled. “I’ve told you, there isn’t a storm in the area.” 

Harry opened his eyes. 

“Look farther.” Atkinson knelt down next to Harry and ran a fingernail along his face. “Such a gift. What shall I do with you?” 

Draco gasped loudly and held open his hands now full of sparks that flowed out to the beakers. And then he collapsed down against the barrier, coughing and clawing at the floor. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard after all.” Atkinson moved to inspect all eight of the now full beakers. “Perhaps I will let you go outside tomorrow, to enjoy the sunshine. I do reward good work, after all. My good asset.” 

Now Draco was pulling his hair and muttering. “Twilight. Everything is twilight. Grey and twisted, a perversion of what it is.” He pulled himself up off the floor and slammed his hands on the barrier. “You thought I would just fade away, an empty vessel for you to fill up as you pleased!” he screamed. 

Atkinson glared at Draco. “You were a pathetic, whiny Death Eater. Not good enough to scrub floors. I gave you a chance, a higher purpose. Redemption! Without me, you would not be fit to step on!” 

Harry wiggled his fingers. “Accio,” he whispered and his wand slipped across the floor to his hand. 

“You unmade me for your own purposes. For power, a petty quest that has consumed you and left only corruption behind!” 

Harry began to cut through his bindings. 

“A petty quest! You were the one who sought me out, who begged for the slightest bit of attention, needing to be important, eager to prove yourself. I gave you purpose, I made you important!” 

Harry got his hand out, “Incarcerous!” 

The ropes jumped and twisted away from Atkinson and then fell uselessly on the floor. And then a truly awful smile worked its way across Atkinson’s face. He pointed his wand at Harry, aimed carefully at his stomach. “Diffindo.” 

Hot burning tore through Harry, cut him in two, so painful he couldn’t scream. And blood gushed out, soaking through his clothes and running onto the floor. Harry tried to look, to see the damage, but he couldn’t move his head without nearly blacking out from the pain. 

“NO!” Draco screamed and a tidal wave of magic drowned the room. The containment field went down, there was a soft pop, and Draco was kneeling on the floor by Harry, tears furiously rolling down his face and onto Harry. His hands hovered over the wound as if there were some way he could hold all the blood and push it back in. 

“I can save him, Draco. You know that I can, together, I just need you to let me in again. I can direct all of that glorious magic inside you and I can save him,” Atkinson said. 

“You did this to him!” Draco cried out, and Harry felt the push of magic again. It was like in his flat when Draco had slammed the door shut, but more and harder. Atkinson flew across the room, landing in a bookcase and crumpling to the floor. Harry watched, able to twist his head and his gaze fell on a cold cup of tea. 

“Accio,” Harry whispered. 

Draco turned back to Harry, still crying fiercely. “You idiot, what did you do!” He pulled off the robes and pressed them to Harry’s stomach while Harry tried to pick up the tea cup. 

“Couldn’t leave you here,” Harry said quietly, gasping for air. “Had to fulfill my vow.” The cup broke, and Harry trailed his fingers through the liquid 

“You idiot.” Draco leaned down and feathered kisses all over his face. “That stupid vow.” 

“Want you to tell me.” Draco pulled back, and Harry brought a finger to his mouth. A single drop of tea rolled across his tongue. 

“You know.” Draco sobbed. “You know.” 

“Want you to tell me anyway,” Harry said again, his voice barely a whisper. There wasn’t time to argue. 

“You know I can’t.” Draco leaned over him, and Harry gestured vaguely to the broken tea cup on the floor. He was too weak to do much more. “Why did you drink the tea?!” Draco cried, forehead resting on Harry’s chest. 

Harry brought his hands up to rest on Draco’s head. The contact eased the pain enough to speak. “Please, please tell me.” 

“You already know.” Draco whispered, his voice broken with sobs. 

“Tell me anyway.” Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair as strength dripped into his limbs. “Want to hear you say it.” 

Draco took a deep shuddering breath. “The whole story, from the beginning?” 

“Yes.” 

He lifted his head to look at Harry, and Harry could see the tears leaving great streaks on his bloody face as they dripped down his chin. “You asked for leniency, at my trial, and they gave me community service. There was a need for someone with experience in Dark Artifacts in the Department of Mysteries, so I was assigned here, five years ago. Atkinson,” Draco looked away, at the slumped body against the bookcase. “He took an interest in me, invited me into his research. He was nice to me when no one else was, but I didn’t know. I didn’t understand.” 

“What?” Harry asked, hands still smoothing Draco’s hair. “Tell me what he did.” 

Draco sniffed and rubbed snot off his face. “He tore a hole in me, threw my magic down to the bottom. But magic, magic isn’t like that. It’s bigger. It’s like that show we watched, with the volcanos. There’s this huge mass of magic, the core and it simmers and it bubbles up in people, in magical places, in thunderstorms. Most people can’t find it, their magic bubbles up at a steady pace, fills the tunnel so no one can get to the heart of it.” 

“But you can?” 

Draco nodded and wiped at his face again. “It’s easy to fall down a hole when there isn’t anything in the way. I didn’t understand what he wanted from me. I didn’t understand why anyone would do that to a person. He made me into something else.” 

“What are you, my love?” Harry asked. 

“Power. He made me his artifact,” Draco’s voice was a bare whisper. “He made me pure, endless power. 

Harry’s hand slipped to Draco’s face. “No, my love, flesh and bone. A man with flesh and bones. He couldn’t unmake you.” 

“Harry,” Draco began to cry again, burying his face in Harry’s chest. 

Around them, Aurors popped into the lab with loud cracks. From the edge of his vision, Harry could see a team from St. Mungo’s, Robards, Ron. Harry turned his head, hands still around Draco, to see them. “I’m okay,” Harry said, breathing normally. 

But the Healers were already there, gently pulling Draco back and running diagnostics over both of them. Draco let himself be pulled over to a chair, hands over his face as the young healer cast and cast and cast. Ron was in the corner arresting Atkinson while Robards picked up the Seeing Eye. 

“Harry?” Draco asked, his voice high and thin with fear. 

“I’m here.” Harry sat up and pushed his own healer out of the way so that he could see Draco. “It’s okay.” 

“What did you do?” He asked, wiped his face on his shirt and then looking through the room which was now filled with Aurors poking through the evidence. And Robards was talking loudly while Ron quietly pulled Atkinson to standing. 

“I fulfilled my vow.” Harry gestured to the Seeing Eye with his scarred hand, “Set to broadcast. I told the world what you did.” 

Draco leaned forward onto his elbows, hands clenched between his knees, not really seeing, not really hearing. His healer was calling to another, something about his magical core reading as unsteady. And Harry pushed himself up to sit, made to stand, but then Robards was next to him. “Take it easy, Harry.” 

Ron handed Atkinson off to the Healers to inspect the large knot on the side of his head, and then he stormed over to Harry, crushing him in a hug completely unaware of the injuries still healing in his stomach. “Harry, you idiot! What were you thinking? That is the worst plan I have ever seen. Why didn’t you let me help you?” 

Robards tapped Draco on the shoulder when his Healer went over to Atkinson. “I need you to come with me, make an official statement.” 

Harry could see Draco nodding slowly as reality dawned on him. He turned back to Harry. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” Harry gave him a wry smile, and Draco followed Robards out of the room. 

“Come on, Harry. Let’s get you out of here.” Mp reason I can’t take your statement upstairs.” Ron looked at the Healer. “Is he good to go?” 

The Healer nodded. “A little dehydrated, but no injuries.” 

Harry gave the Healer a look, but didn’t say anything, not if they were going to let him go. There’d be time to do that later, after he’d written his report. No one needed to know Draco had tears like a phoenix. 

They took the lifts, Harry could still feel the hum of Draco’s magic on his skin and he didn’t want to apparate and potential disturb it. “Hell, Harry, what happened?” Ron peered closely at him. 

“Apparently, Atkinson cut into Draco to make him a conduit for more magical power and then held him hostage in his lab until Draco broke out.” 

“Shit,” he sighed. 

“I’ll show you all my notes.” Harry led Ron down the hall to his desk where he had piled up all his notes. They sat down, and Harry took him through the entire investigation from the very beginning, starting with Draco’s arrival in his flat. 

It was either very late or very early when they finished, and Ron leaned back in the chair and said, “shit, Harry.” He wiped his face. “You better get home. I’ll write all this up, but I’m sure Robards will want to speak with you tomorrow.” 

Harry nodded, “Just as soon as Draco gets here.” 

There was a long moment of silence before Ron finally spoke, “I’m sure when Robards is done with him, he will make sure Malfoy gets home safely.” 

And Harry was exhausted, and not quite comprehending, but hadn’t he just explained all of this? Hadn’t he just told Ron that Draco lived in that bloody horrible lab? And, okay, maybe he’d left out some of the details from the last few weeks, but really, Harry didn’t think Ron wanted to know about that and it wasn’t important to the investigation. 

“What home?” Harry threw the blanket off. “Malfoy Manor was torn down. His parents are dead. His friends live outside of the country. Where is he going to go?” 

“Wherever he lived while he was working at the Department.” Ron wasn’t shouting, but he wasn’t shouting in that way that said he really wanted to. 

“He lived in the department, on that shitty cot behind a containment field,” Harry pointed out, and Ron started to look uncomfortable. “I’m going to take him home.” 

“Harry!” Ron finally shouted. “I am sure there are people to take care of him. He has friends.” 

Harry stared. “No he doesn’t. He’s literally lived in the Department of Mysteries for the last year and a half and with an Unspeakable since the end of the war!” He shook his head in irritation. 

“What will Trevor say?” Ron asked, putting a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“What will Trevor say?” Harry repeated. “That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard. Draco is Trevor.” Because Harry was tired, and had nearly died again, and despite the fact that Draco had literally told the world what happened to him, no one seemed to understand. Harry opened the door, stormed out into the hall, and was almost at Robards's office when Ron caught up to him. 

Harry threw open the door to Robards office and said loudly, “I’m taking Draco home now. If you need him, I’ll bring him back tomorrow.” His voice was steely and cut through the room. 

Draco’s head shot up at Harry’s voice. 

Robards sighed and looked tiredly between the two of them. “Fine. I don’t have any more questions tonight, but I expect to see both of you in my office tomorrow morning at 9am for a better explanation of what happened.” 

“We’ll be back at 2pm.” Harry glared. “I am not coming back here with less than six hours of sleep. And neither is he.” 

Robards wasn’t even looking at Harry, but piercing Draco with a dark look. “I expect you to be here, no excuses, not one minute--” 

“God, Robards! He’s coming back to my place. He’ll be here when I get here!” Harry shouted. 

He turned his gaze back on Draco. “This is a temporary situation. We will figure out what to do with you.” 

“Of course.” Draco nodded, unfolded his gangly body, and reached out for Harry’s hand. 

Ron watched through the open door as Harry tucked Draco’s hand carefully in his own, fingers entwined. Outside the office, he said, just quietly enough for the two of them to hear, “I will always find you, no matter where you go. I will always come for you.” 

“I know.” Draco leaned in close and whispered just softly enough for Harry to hear, “It’s my arse, isn’t it?” 

And Harry laughed. “Let’s go home. Grace is worried about you.” 

“Oh god,” Draco groaned. “Don’t let her see me like this. I can only imagine what she’ll do.” 

“I’m pretty sure she’ll force feed you twinkies.” 

“What’s a twinkie?” 

“Some sort of horrible American sweet,” Harry replied. 

“Harry,” Ron put a hand on Harry’s arm. “This is a bad idea.” But his words lacked bite. 

“Ron,” Harry said, shaking his head. “If you think anyone is going to stand between me and taking Draco home, you’ve lost your mind. I will see you later.” He pulled Draco close to him, wrapped an arm around his waist and apparated them home.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel like a part of me wrote the entire first nine chapters just so that I could write the epilogue. It is far and beyond my favorite part of this story.  
> I promised in another author note to explain a question that both my beta and at least one reader commented on. At one point Draco acquires a bracelet that is never explained. The reason this is never explained is because the entire story is written from Harry's pov, and if he asks about the bracelet, Draco must lie. I wanted very much to include Draco's pov, but it wasn't really plot relevant and I was worried that it would get repetitive. This epilogue is just a taste of what every day is like in Draco's head, and hopefully it explains why the bracelet is never explained.

Draco stood in the kitchen stirring the stew, but his mind was far away, in the storm that wouldn’t arrive for hours yet, mostly caught in the rain, the cool water that pounded down in unrelenting waves. He fell with the rain, driving himself constantly down until he shattered against the ground, only to come back to himself, stir the pot once more, and fall back into the storm. 

A knock at the door interrupted the cycle, and Draco realized that his record had stopped playing. He let his hands linger over the turntable and thoughts of Grace to wash through his mind. She was almost as stabilizing as Harry and had promised to have dinner with him tonight, since Harry wouldn’t be able to make it. 

The knock at the door came again, and Draco quickly replaced the needle before drifting over to open the door to the whimsical, discordant music. 

Granger stood there, caught in the middle of tapping her toe and holding a briefcase. “Oh, I was afraid you wouldn’t answer. Harry told me not to go in if you didn’t answer.” 

Draco didn’t listen to her, Floyd was speaking, "I've always been mad, I know I've been mad, like the most of us...very hard to explain why you're mad, even if you're not mad..." He drifted back over to the turntable. 

Granger followed him into the room. “Harry said he’d be at Grimmauld Place tonight, but that’d he’d take some time at lunch to check on you tomorrow.” 

That wasn’t what Harry said, Draco knew. Harry never said things like ‘check on.’ Everyone else looked at him with their pity and their horror and their insistence on thinking of him like a child prone to accidental magic. Draco had heard Granger talking to Harry about it once, had heard the earnest kindness as she insisted Draco needed to be overseen by a healer, heard the growing anger in Harry’s quiet tone. He’d deliberately broken that tea cup and sliced open his hand just to get the two of them away from each other. 

Harry understood that Draco was still a man. 

Draco swayed a little to the music. 

“I-umm-the trial ended today,” she said. 

Draco looked at her, focused on the curl of her hair and the sharpness of her eyes. “Atkinson was already sentenced, months ago.” 

“Well yes, but the damages were decided today.” Granger strode across the room with a confidence Draco was not certain she felt. She put down her briefcase and took out a pile of papers. “You’ve been awarded a substantial amount.” She droned on. 

Draco didn’t care about the damages, about the pity and the horror. He listened to Floyd, because Floyd always seemed to understand. “Breathe, breathe in the air. Don't be afraid to care. Leave but don't leave me. Look around and choose your own ground.” 

“It’s been set into a trust.” She was still talking, and Draco realized with a sigh that she didn’t understand. 

“Granger.” 

She stopped and looked at him. 

“Is the trust even in my own name?” 

“Well, no.” She paused, caught off guard by his lucidity. “Harry’s been granted Guardianship, so everything will have to be agreed upon by him.” 

“Then why are you here talking to me like it is my money?” 

She straightened up defensively. “Harry insisted I share all of this with you.” 

Draco’s gaze quickly flickered to the door, where Grace was now standing. “Am I interrupting?” She asked, looking between Draco and Granger. 

“Not at all.” Draco smiled at her, and then said to Granger, “Would you care to join us for dinner? I’ve made a pot roast.” 

Granger looked between Grace and Draco, and Draco took a perverse sort of pleasure in her discomfort. 

Grace, however, did not. “I’m glad you like the record,” she said. “It’s a little too strange for me, but my brother really liked Pink Floyd.” 

Draco gave the turntable a soft smile. “Yes, I feel that Floyd understands what it’s like to live inside my head.” He turned back to Granger. “If you are going to stay, I will set another place at the table.” 

She agreed, and Draco was certain it was because she didn’t trust Draco with Grace. But he set the extra place setting, and Grace helped him put out the bread and salad. He offered them both wine, but neither accepted, and then they all sat down to eat. Grace talked about hospital gossip, which Draco always took special delight in. 

And then he was extra pleased when Hermione said, “Oh! You work in a hospital.” Because it took her that long to confirm that Grace was a muggle. 

“Yes,” Draco said acidly. “I know, shocking that I have a nurse friend, but you really shouldn’t discriminate like that.” 

“I am not discriminating!” Hermione insisted hotly. “I am--” 

Draco raised his eyebrows and waited for her to finish that sentence. 

But Grace was the one to break the tension, in her usual straight forward manner. “I feel like I am missing something.” 

Draco gave up his staring contest with Granger and said with a sigh of resignation, “I was not a very nice person in school. I said lots of derogatory things about Granger. I suppose this is my comeuppance.” He stood and walked over to the door. 

“It’s true, and we don’t get along well now,” Granger agreed. “I only came over as a favor to Harry.” 

Draco could feel the rain again, and the thunder was echoing through his bones. It would only be a few more hours before the storm hit. Floyd was reaching the end of the album. “All that's to come and everything under the sun is in tune but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.” He raised his hand to the glass and felt the shadow of rain on his face, drip from his chin to his chest, running in rivulets across the channels of his scars. Draco traced them absently. 

Grace’s voice carried softly through flashes of lightning. “We should clear the table. I think he will be there for a while.” 

"There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it's all dark," said Floyd. 

* 

Minutes, hours, countless drops of rain later, Draco heard a voice. He was soaked through the soul of him, his blood buzzed, his bones echoed with the crashes, and the voice was soft and distant, drowned out in the gales of the storm. 

“Draco!” 

But it was Grace, and no matter how soft her voice and how loud the crash he would hear her. “Grace?” He could hardly hear his own voice over the pelting of the rain. 

She took his hands, and they were warm and dry and not at all dripping, and her touch grounded a part of him, and Draco could feel that his skin was dry for all that he felt soggy. And instead of the lightning flashing through his veins, it flowed down to the ground, and the thunder was only in his ears. 

Slowly Draco blinked back into the room, at the tossed furniture and the hanging books, and at Grace with her beautiful face all covered in concern. “Grace.” 

She gave him a small smile. “And here I thought all those nights you and Harry were having terribly loud sex.” 

The storm was still pounding, and Draco had lost his voice again. 

“Tell me,” she commanded gently. 

And then words were pouring out of Draco like rain from a waterspout. “It’s too much, too much magic, it doesn’t fit inside me. I can’t keep it in.” 

“Can you direct it? Can you put it somewhere else?” 

“It’s crackling through the storm. Grease in a hot pan, crackling and spitting.” 

“Can you use it? Draco, use the magic.” She sounded panicked 

Draco closed his eyes but gripped her tight. He ignored the storm and thought only of Grace’s hands, of the way they were a little dry from all of the hand washing, but warm and strong. There were calluses because she worked hard, and a small cut around the bed of her nail, long since stopped bleeding but not healed yet. Draco thought of the wound and felt the lightning flicker from him to her, flicker through the wound and knit it together. 

“Yes.” He licked dry lips. 

“Put on your shirt, you’re coming with me.” 

Draco swayed with the wind, but somehow found himself dressed with shoes that Harry had bought him just last week. And they were moving, but all Draco could feel was the rain in his eyes and under his skin, the thunder in his ears and pounding through his heart, the lightning zipping across his skin. And Grace’s hand, tight around his arm, pulling and pushing and steering him for he could not do that himself. 

And then there were painfully bright lights, and the squeak of sneakers on tile, the sounds of beeping and labored breathing. And Grace’s voice, “Tell me where we are.” 

“The Hospital. But Grace, I can’t heal these people, I don’t have that kind of control.” Draco looked at her honey hair and heard the call of the storm again. 

“Can you help them sleep? Can you make their pain a little less?” 

Draco considered her words, considered the elderly man on the other side of the door with the wet cough that shook him awake, at the way he both hated and could not find the energy to hate the tiny beeping machine attached to him, at the ache in his joints. And the storm was rolling, picking up a fervor outside, and the magic was swelling. And Draco laid his hand across the man’s brow and he slept. 

* 

Harry did come back to the flat that night as soon as he heard the first rumblings of thunder, but Draco was no longer there. For a brief moment, he panicked. This was the first time he had not known where Draco was since Atkinson. And then Harry breathed deep, touched his thumb and saw the hospital. It wouldn’t do to just arrive in a busy ward, so instead of following the line, Harry apparated inside a janitorial closet. 

He cracked open the door and saw an empty hallway, except for Grace who had her back to him. Quietly, Harry slipped out, and walked up to her. She was dressed in jeans, so not working, and she was standing outside a patient room, leaning on the door frame and watching something inside. 

“What’s going on?” She startled, narrowed her eyes, and then smiled. “He’s helping. Look.” She pointed through the door at where Draco was leaning next to a young woman trying to sleep in a terribly uncomfortable chair. 

Harry watched as he gently touched her temple with closed eyes and the woman fell into a deeper sleep. After a moment, Draco looked up and met Harry’s gaze. He smiled, patted the woman’s hand once, and stood up. 

“How?” Harry asked Grace. 

But Draco answered. “I had an episode. Grace found me and brought me here.” 

“Are you like Draco?” Grace asked Harry. 

Harry turned red and muttered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Grace laughed. “S’okay. I’m familiar with confidentiality.” 

“I guess I could explain it sometime.” Harry shrugged. If Grace knew, well, that was probably better for Draco. “But what are you doing here?” 

Draco closed his eyes and felt the storm. It had peaked, the rain was not so strong in him, and the wind more gentle, and the thunder softer. “It’s passing, but not gone. I’d like to stay a little longer.” 

“But what are you doing here?” Harry repeated. 

Draco wandered into the next room, so Grace answered, “He seemed to have a lot of excess energy, and I thought he might be able to help.” She gestured down the hall. “And he has.” 

Draco leaned down next to the teenager, only a few years younger than himself, who struggled with a pain in his stomach. He placed his hand on his forehead and thought, “Long you live and high you fly And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry And all you touch and all you see Is all your life will ever be.”


End file.
